The Long Road Home: The Journey of Alice & Jasper
by J. Anne Brown
Summary: This is the story of the long journeys Alice & Jasper take on the way to meeting each other and eventually the Cullens.Historically accurate, in canon, APOV & JPOV.
1. Chapter 1: Crossroads

_**Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**_

_**Chapter One:Crossroads**_

_Black black black black black._

It had been dark for so long that I had forgotten what light looked like, felt like. The darkness was tangible, like a cool, musty cloak wrapped around me from head to toe; I was swaddled like a baby in sooty blackness, but it wasn't comforting, like a blanket. More like a shroud. Was I buried? Was I dead?

I couldn't remember how long I had been alone in the dark. Forever? A week? A second? Time loses its meaning after a while, when you have nothing to mark the passing of the moments. No shadows flowing across the walls and floor, no ticking clocks' hands showing how the hours and minutes pass; I remembered the idea of shadows, of walls and floors, of clocks, but not what they actually looked like. What does anything look like, feel like? I had become a philosopher in my solitary black existence. It was as if I was caught in an eternal moment that had no beginning and would never end.

A vague, gnawing feeling, something I realized I should recognize, somewhere in my middle section. I knew I theoretically had things called arms, legs, a torso, a head, but in that darkness they didn't exist, they were just meaningless words, I knew I could touch myself, whatever I was, and not know what I was touching. Was it my..._stomach_? Was I…_hungry_? I felt my mind emerging slowly from cloudy stupidity into a slightly less hazy reality.

_Hunger_. Hmmm. _What was hunger?_ I pondered it for a moment, a philosopher again. _The lack of food, the desire of the body for nourishment. How long had it been since I had eaten anything?_ I knew I had eaten before, had tasted food and enjoyed it to varying degrees, but once again, it was an abstract concept. But this strange feeling in what I was beginning to understand as my midsection was unpleasant, and growing even more so with time. That new hunger helped me realize the passing of time, the desire for something to fill my empty insides made me realize the minutes marching by. _Why am I hungry?_ Was that not a basic need of humans, of anything, to eat, to be able to keep the body going? Why had it not been met?

Suddenly, a light.

It was like the first sunrise, breaking over the horizon, after God spoke those all-important words**. Let there be light. **

_God? _

_Who was God?_

But that didn't matter—all that mattered was the light.

A long, vertical slant of light, brighter than a million stars (_stars_?), growing wider, casting its piercing rays upon me, my eyes screaming painfully in protest, but still seeking more. _Light_. I hungered for it as much as the body I only vaguely understood and acknowledged desired food. Without understanding what I was doing, I lunged toward the light, I wanted to touch it, I wanted to bathe in it, be consumed by it. I wanted to FEEL. To KNOW. Things that were impossible to do well in the blackness.

_I can't move!_ The body I hadn't been able to feel suddenly screamed in protest, the muscles I had forgotten I had bunched and cramped, strained against the bindings I could feel holding me fast. I was sitting, I realized. I was in a chair, a hard chair with a high back and long arms, and I was strapped to it at the shoulders, wrists, elbows, waist, and thighs. My feet dangled in empty air, twitching as I struggled, and they burned from the lack of circulation, from not being able to touch the floor. _Am I a child, or simply very small?_ The shaft of light piercing my world came narrowly through a tiny opening I could now see in front of my eyes, a cutout space…My head was covered by something, something hard that I could feel pressing against my cheeks and forehead and crown, with a small notch cut out in front of my nose.

How amazing. In that split second I remembered my body, knew all the names of the different parts of it. And in that split second I wished I could forget them all again.

…_It hurts…!_

Whoever had opened the door entered the room, leaving the door open a bit. Rough hands loosened the strap across my elbows enough for me to move my forearms. My fingers tingled in relief, blood rushing down into the starved tissues like a raging fire. I gasped in pain. The same rough hands lifted away the thing that covered my head; I felt the cold air of the room on my scalp, through my sweaty hair.

I could see again, a little bit, but the weak light coming from the doorway made my eyes smart and ache. _How long since I've seen daylight? __**Any**__ light??_

A scraping sound. Something, a shape, intruding into the shaft of light on the floor, and I was aware of something else: a smell. Something besides the musty dankness. It smelled like life itself; somehow, my subconscious registered that scent. Bread. Broth. _The smell of life itself_. Rough hands pushed something onto the arms of my chair. I saw, sharply cast in shadows by the light in front of me, shapes of things I knew I should know and love. I lifted my tingling hands, fell upon the tray—_tray_?—and began to eat with the savagery of an animal. Was that what I was? _An animal? Am I in a…zoo?_

That concept bothered me vaguely, but it took a very distant second place to the feeling of rapture as the food I swallowed without tasting filled the hollow inside me. The hunger was calmed a bit, not banished entirely, but it retreated enough that it was possible to ignore it and think about other things, my mind growing clearer by the moment.

While I had stuffed myself with that food the light vanished, with an echoing thud, a puff of dust. It was dark again, so absolutely dark that I almost doubted the food in my hands.

_No! _

I froze, hands midway to my face. Yes, face. That was where my eyes were, my mouth, my nose. My brain. What had just happened?

_Someone had shut the door to my cell._

_Cell_? Wasn't a cell someplace for a prisoner, someone who must be locked away, to protect the innocent from them? To punish the offender? Was I one of those people, the condemned? Was this a prison I was in? This blackness, and to be strapped to this infernal chair, was this my sentence? What was my crime?

I finished the last bite of bread, gulped the last mouthful of broth, and knew that a thin stream of it ran down my chin and dripped onto my chest, but I didn't care. I knew I should have cared at the crudeness of it, but it was suddenly more important that I THINK.

_Why am I here?_

_Who am I?_

Me. Who was I. This collection of body parts, this amalgam of chaotic thoughts and feelings, was a person. Me. Who was me? Who was I?

Sounds came to me, gibberish at first. I tested them, tasted them on my tongue.

_M. Mmmm….ma….rrr. Maaaarrrrryyyy._ Dredged up from the thick tangle of my dim past. Odd sounds. Nonsense syllables.

_Mary?_

Right but not perfect. Not complete. Not what I had answered to before the darkness, I was pretty sure…although I didn't quite remember anything before the darkness, just odd flashes and images that I didn't really understand right now. It was very important that I remember those sounds correctly. They meant something, something vital. Like a key to a lock that I couldn't see or feel, but made up my whole being.

It hit me like a bolt of lightning, an electric shock, from nowhere.

_Mary Alice. Mary Alice Brandon._ I was Mary Alice Brandon.

_**Alice.**_ I didn't like Mary. Too many Marys around. Alice was better. Alice was different, pretty. Like Alice in Wonderland...a book I loved, a magical place I could escape to. I think I liked books, liked magic.

But why was I in the dark? Why was Alice in the dark? Had I, Alice, always been here? Been a bad girl? No. No, I hadn't. What was there before this blackness? It was so hard, not being able to separate the twisted, tangled thoughts and images that seemed to make up "before". I thought hard, tried to remember, to untangle. I focused everything I was in that moment on that concept. _Why why why?_

I remembered something, something clear, something real, something important. I remembered remembering, remembered feeling.

_Green grass. Sweet, cool wind moving across my face. Bright blue sky. Scent of freshly mown hay on the wind. Birdsong. Sunlight. Taste of berries on my tongue, sweet and sour at the same time. White skirts blowing against my legs. My favorite dress. I was ten. Gathering blackberries. My favorites. Seeds caught in my teeth. Juice stained my fingers and lips. Then…something strange. Something strange but not unfamiliar. Pictures. __**My**__ pictures._

Though my eyes did not stop seeing the berry patch and trees and grass and blue sky, something else was there too, something separate from the berry patch but still there, but not tangible. Like a picture cast upon the air before me, flickering, hazy, but I could still see some details. Like a motion picture show. I had seen one before, but in a theatre, not outside, in the bright afternoon sunlight. Where was the projector? But I had seen these before, these pictures. Sometimes they showed me things that were wonderful, sometimes things that were horrible, sometimes things that did not happen at all—but they usually did. I had loved the pictures as a small child, delighted in them, rejoiced at telling people about them. I had disregarded their fear and revulsion at first when the pictures came true, it hadn't mattered. I had been right. But that had changed. The pictures had eventually become something to fear, to hate, to hide from. I avoided people. I tried to not see them. But it never mattered, they always came, whether I was awake or asleep. That day I saw something that frightened me, made me want to hide in the thorny blackberry bushes and never come out.

_My father. Hollering. Angry. Face red and sweaty as it was when he drank. Crushing my fingers as he clutched my hand, dragged me away. "Satan's spawn!!!" The smell of whiskey on his breath, sour and sickening._

_Mama, screaming. Begging. "No, no, please, no, she's only a girl!"_

_Someone else crying in the room, someone small, golden hair in pigtails. __**Cynthia**__. My little sister. She cried for me, screamed for them not to take me. They didn't listen._

_The priest. "We must cast out the demons." His hands folded piously before him, his face like stone. "Modern science has the means to help his child. God has mandated it."_

_The big building, long dark hallways, sharp chemical smell; screaming, moaning, sobs, whimpers, whispers, hysterical laughter, shouts, swirling together, flowing from doorways and windows like a symphony composed by a maniac. Doors slamming. A high-pitched humming, like a tuning fork struck against a rock: the sound of electricity. Screams. My screams. Dragging my heels, kicking, shrieking, tearing with my nails and teeth and trying to grab at something, anything, to keep me from it as I was thrust into a room, and then nothing. So __**black**__. I screamed too. Darkness.__** I was afraid of the dark.**_

"_Don't worry, Mary Alice. It's all for the best. They'll make you better. They'll fix you." My father's voice had never sounded so false before, in a child's lifetime of memories of falseness from him. Footsteps fading with distance. Darkness, all-encompassing. Hearing faintly from far away, "Do what you need to her. She's no use to me. Damn freak."_

_**Freak??**_

It had happened. I was here now. What I had seen at the berry patch was now my whole world.

_Poor Alice._ Poor me. All alone in the dark, no one around to inspire the pictures, and my own future's pictures filled with nothing, with blackness. Long, long years of emptiness beckoned.

Now I knew who I had been, at least a little, and why I was here, but it was hard to hang on to those things, to hang on to _myself_. The darkness was just too thick, too heavy. It pulled on me, pulled on my thoughts, weighed them down, pulled me into the darkness with them. Was that why I was here?

To lose myself?

_Why? What's so wrong with me?_

Ah, yes. _The pictures_. Having pictures meant you were wrong, were evil, that you were broken, right? Needed fixing. Right?

I remembered: my doll, her arm dangling by a thin thread…Mama pulling out her sewing kit, humming as she re-attached the doll's arm, smiling absently to herself. "See, Mary Alice? I fixed it!" she said brightly. Brandished my doll, repaired, but still not right. The thread was blue, the doll's body was white. Fixing wasn't possible. Not truly fixing, making something brand-new again. Just repairing. The scar always showed.

Could I be fixed like that? So easily? No, like the doll, the flaw, the scar would always be there.

_But am I really broken??_

I didn't feel broken, before. Before here, I'd felt fine, I think. My pictures were a part of me, like the mole on my right shoulder, like my slightly upturned nose, like my black hair. Part of what made ME…Alice.

Then why was I here?

Oh yes, because THEY thought I was broken. Needed fixing. What I thought didn't matter, because the broken person can't have a proper perspective, is that it? But all the needles and thread in the world wouldn't fix me, wouldn't take away my pictures. If I hadn't been able to avoid them, in my desperate desire to do so for all the years since I had realized how much people disapproved of and feared my ability, then nothing could take them away. Why wouldn't they listen? I never hurt anybody, sometimes my pictures helped.

I considered this. I thought hard, until my head hurt. Had they gone away, my pictures, since I had been here in the dark? Was their solution working?

_No._ No, not really. They were less, but still there. Less because I had no one around me to make decisions and cause the pictures to come to me, because the blackness deprived me of my consciousness; less because my own future had obviously been decided by others more powerful than me, and who had no desire or inclination to change that decision.

Suddenly a flash of memory: it struck me that it wasn't always dark.

I remembered that now, and wished it _was_ always dark. Then I wouldn't have had to endure what followed the light coming back.

Sometimes, _**they**_ came for me.

I remembered the painfully bright slash of light as the door was thrown open, the hard hands on my arms as they dragged me outside into the hall outside my cell, the light which had delighted me at first becoming sinister as I realized something was dreadfully wrong. Felt something pulling my wrists and ankles fast against a hard surface, pushing me down onto a table, holding me tight. Someone shoved something between my teeth, holding my nose when I refused til I finally relented, gasping.

"Be a good girl now. Bite down on this." Taste of hard leather, dry and dusty.

Click.

Agony. Pain so sharp and defined it was as if I felt every cell in my body, alight and afire with it. Sizzling, a burning smell. That sound, like a vibrating music note, frozen in eternity, electric, buzzing. Oh, the stench. Burning me. Gagging me.

_Is that my hair I smell? Am I on __**fire**__??_

Yes. _My __**hair**_. Sizzling. Burning. My body thrashing in futile resistance, tormented by currents of electricity poured into me through my temples. My teeth bit down into the hard thing until they met, pierced the leather, and I tasted my own blood on my tongue. I would lose consciousness, fading into a misty red haze than eventually tapered into a numb blackness. I would awake in my chair, utterly and completely disoriented, twitching, unable to even comprehend my own consciousness.

Other times the rough hands took me somewhere else. Bundled me blindfolded out of my cell, then half-carried me to a different place. They took my clothes, left me naked and shivering, defenseless as the day I was born, lying on an icy-cold floor in a tiny room. I could reach out and touch the cold walls and ceiling without being able to extend my arms even half-way, could feel tiny holes in those walls, thousands of them. Wondered _why_. Such a common word in my existence. It defined me. Why.

"Bathtime! Be a good girl, sit still."

Then the water came, bitingly _cold_, in tiny streams, fast and hard as if from a firehose, striking my skin like needles, from every direction. It was as if I was being flayed alive, it felt as if my skin was being scoured away by thousands of icy, biting insects…Water in my nose, my mouth, my ears, drumming my eyes through my squinted eyelids, pouring from my hair, puddling around my knees, while I hunkered down into myself, trying to keep my tender flesh from more ravaging by those watery needles.

I could never tell how long the shower lasted. Eventually rough hands would throw open the chamber door and yank me to my feet. I would be dressed in different clothes and shoved back into my chair, strapped upright. Those were the only times I welcomed it. At least the chair was dry, solid.

Then there were times when the room was warmed to a suffocating, oppressive heat, causing me to sweat and then ultimately pass out, delirious. I would spend days like that, I think, drifting in and out of fevered dreams, til I awoke one day drenched in sweat, feeling wrung out like an old dishtowel. I didn't understand why they would do that to me.

Sometimes, more frequently it seemed lately, although I had little basis of comparison, it wasn't the rough hands taking me to the shocks or the showers that took the dark away for a moment. Sometimes, the hands came sweetly, silhouetted against the blinding brightness of the open door, offering me a cupful of loveliness. I remembered the flavor: chocolate. "Here, drink this. It's good for you." I barely noticed the bitter aftertaste as I gulped it down greedily in my animal hunger. Even after several times of this, I always took the cup and welcomed the taste.

Afterwards, the darkness took on a different feel. Warmer. More comforting, at first, gathering around me like a soft blanket. I would drift in that sweet sensory deprivation, forgetting everything bad. My thoughts would slow, flowing like cold syrup, and would become tangled, messy. Incomprehensible. Then I would become disoriented, dizzy, would see colors flashing behind my closed eyelids, would sometimes vomit, or shake with horrible tremors till I thought my bones would dislocate. Eventually blackness would overwhelm me and I would pass out.

Later, I never knew how much later, I would wake and not know where I was, who I was, and would have to fight my way back to myself, my brain sluggish and stupid, and I would spend hours, days perhaps, slogging through the tarry blackness of the cell and in my own mind until I found Mary Alice again, until I understood myself again, would remember that it was something in the chocolate they gave me, and promise not to drink it next time…but I always would. _Weak_. I was so weak. I would begin to be anxious for the cup, would begin to feel sick with waiting, it became almost like a physical craving. But _why? _I hated what it did to me. _Why do I want it?_ It was strange. Did everyone go through this?

No. Only me, with my accursed pictures. They were trying to make them go away, my pictures. Trying to fix me. Alice without the pictures would be all right for them, even if it was just a botched repair job, like cutting off a diseased and rotting limb.

_**Take them!!!!**_ I screamed into the blackness. Yes, the pictures were a part of me like my nose, but a part I would gladly trade for a moment's breath of fresh air, to see the sun, feel the wind, for a second to feel free. Take them, and be damned!

But it didn't work.

So I sat in the darkness. I endured the hunger and thirst. I forgot and remembered, forgot again, remembered again. I ate and drank and thrashed against my bonds when they tortured me with the shocks and curled protectively around myself in the showers. I thirsted jaggedly for the cup and its bitter aftertaste, for the momentary glimpse of peace it brought. But that glimpse was growing less with every time, I could tell my body was becoming accustomed to it, that it wanted more of the stuff to get that peace. I drowsed in the blackness and despaired of anything else. What else was there to do? There was nothing in the empty black cell to kill myself with.

Once, when they left my straps loose for a while, after feeding me, I managed to release myself, and tried banging my head against the walls until I felt blood flow, until my consciousness merged with the darkness, trying to hurt myself badly enough that I could sleep forever. It didn't work, though; I woke later, bound to my chair at new points, neck and knees and ankles, totally immobile, head covered with the wooden hood and its tiny opening, my head throbbing. I could feel blood, dried and tacky on my face and neck, could smell it all over me, knew that no one cared about me other than to keep me from being more of a nuisance. I was a good girl after that; if I had to be in the dark, at least I wanted to be free to move a bit when they left the straps off my forearms, to kick my feet in a vain effort to keep my toes from falling asleep. To remind myself that I was alive, as noxious as life was.

They were winning in one way, the people who had put me here, my tormentors: Mary Alice was going. _Alice going bye-bye_, like I remembered my little sister saying as I was taken away. Every time I had to fight my way back to her, Alice was more faded, more vague, less familiar. _Bye-bye Alice_. Like an old dress being weathered by the wash, wind, and work, becoming shapeless and drab and eventually worthless for anything but the ragbag. I was losing Alice, they were throwing the baby out with the bathwater, and I didn't really know why that bothered me anymore. Why did it matter, really, if Alice was there? What did Alice matter? I just wanted to stop feeling anything at all. I was tired of the pain and gnawing addiction, tired of the blackness, tired of the confusion and fear and doubt. I wanted it all to end. Please, let me sleep. Dreamless_. Empty._

Then one day HE came, and with him came the pictures of my life again. They stunned me with their vivid strangeness.

I had been sleeping, I suppose, when he was suddenly there. I know I didn't remember seeing the blinding slash of light as the door opened, or I would have cringed away from it, fearful. I remembered first feeling cold, hard fingers stroking my face. I heard the most beautiful sound I had ever heard before. A voice. I should have been terrified but I wasn't.

"Ah, my sweet, how sad you are." A sigh, soft and careful. "I will help you. I just pray I am not too late."

_**!!!!!!!**_

_Joy._ I didn't know who he was, I didn't know why I was special to him, or why I deserved help…but I _wanted _it. From _him_. I desperately wanted the pictures I saw of myself, flashing by rapidly like pages flipped in a book, burning into the insides of my eyelids: me, cold and hard, glittering(?), breathtaking. Strange, alien, but wonderful. I was as swift as the wind, free as a bird, flying at his side, we were running together. Free. _**FREE**_.

Strong, icy fingers loosened and then removed the straps binding me, lifted the cover from my head. Cold, hard arms lifted me from the chair, as if he knew that I could never walk on my own, not anymore. He caressed my face, brushed back my hair. I knew that it was very short, and I fleetingly, ridiculously, felt the vain, useless shame of knowing I must look hideous. I remembered the days when they came and sheared my hair off, every so often, so it wouldn't burn too much when they shocked me, so I wouldn't become louse-ridden.

I felt his chest hitch against mine in a sob, but no tears fell. "Why have they done this to you, my beautiful one?" he whispered.

_Why indeed?_ I asked silently, ironic even in my delirium, lolling in his arms, weak as a kitten and helpless as a child. _You tell me. I would be happy to have a good answer. Maybe then I could sleep peacefully?_

I felt myself moving, as if I was being carried by a cloud. _To heaven?_

He chuckled. I felt softness beneath me, blessed softness. _Pillows? Blankets? A mattress?_ His fingers on my forehead, stroking.

"So you do have something left inside that poor ravaged mind, thank God. Maybe I'm not too late." Cold fingers stroked my face again. A sweet smell, unlike any I had ever smelled before, washed over me: his breath. I wanted to die then and there, carried to heaven by that sweet breath. "Sleep, my beauty, sleep and dream your dreams. See your pictures. You are safe now."

And so I did.

I don't know how long I slept in the room he had taken me to, safe and dim—I really slept for the first time in who knows how long. Before, in the cell, it had been the sleep of exhaustion, of drugs, of a mind seeking refuge from torture and deprivation; now it was real rest, and my mind lay mostly dormant for a long time, healing.

Not all the healing was enjoyable, though.

For days, weeks, I was wracked with tremors and piercing pain in my stomach, my skin crawled like a living thing, prickling with gooseflesh, greasy with sweat; I vomited, I wept, my brain full of a sticky, itchy haze that buzzed like angry bees even though I knew I didn't hear anything. Sometimes I realized why, in my fleeting moments of true awareness: my craving for the chocolate drink with the bitter aftertaste had roared to life within me at being deprived. I begged him to give me something, anything, to make it stop. Kill me, even.

He sat with me through it. He spooned weak broth into me like a baby, but never made me feel like a child as he did it. He wiped my face, cleaned away the vomit and sweat and tears without hesitation or revulsion, his touch firm and sure. He explained to me, in his kind, patient, musical voice, what was going on, when I begged him to kill me.

"I'm so sorry, darling. So, so sorry." He sighed regretfully, painfully, and then his voice turned hard, condemning. "You see, Alice, they had been giving you laudanum. Milk and cocoa, mixed with laudanum, tincture of opium, to keep you quiet, to make you complacent. They've nearly killed you with it." Icy fingers stroked my forehead, tracing my eyebrows tenderly.

"Your body must be cleansed of it, of the addiction, before you can be whole again. Better to stop it altogether rather than taper it off, we don't have that much time. It will take some time as it is, to dry it out of you, and it makes you ill, but it's best this way."

I understood inside my mind, but it didn't make it any easier to bear the pain and shame of what I was going through. But eventually the symptoms subsided, my limbs stopped trembling, my stomach stopped twisting and rejecting food, my mind cleared of the ragged buzzing haze, and I didn't want the drink anymore. Not really, not purposefully. The taste was still here, in the back of my mind, and I knew that if I allowed it to come to the forefront of my mind it would take over again, and it would rule me. But my angel wouldn't let that happen, so neither would I.

Finally, rested, dreams began. Good dreams. I saw my pictures again.

I saw him, even though I never opened my eyes, even after he removed the light, loose blindfold that had covered my eyes at first. I saw him in my mind, in my pictures.

I think he kept the room where I was very dim and had blindfolded me at first, for my eyes had been damaged by being kept in the dark for so long, he told me. He also said it wouldn't be permanent, that I would see again, although in a different way, and I didn't mind keeping my eyes closed, drowsy, dreamy, safe in that knowledge.

I fixed on the image of his face in my mind. Oh, he was beautiful. So beautiful, sparkling like the sun, his face like an angel, smiling at me, sharp clean planes of his face like marble. I knew he was old, but I didn't care. I knew he was strange, knew he wasn't _human_, but it didn't matter. He was my savior. He loved me, and I didn't care why he'd picked me, although I sometimes wondered at it. The love was enough. His words and hands were gentle. He didn't judge me. He wasn't wishing for me to be different.

_**I'm fine the way I am!**_ _**Me! Alice!**_

He stroked my face, my arms, kissed my forehead. I saw it in my mind's eye, felt it on my skin. I was too afraid to open my real eyes, afraid that perhaps the reality wouldn't match my fantastic dreaming. I had never been so happy before, so complete.

He often sat beside me while I lay there, and he held my hand. He talked to me, told me things about the outside world, about himself. He was very old, he said. I knew that, even though he didn't look old. He had traveled the world over many times, and had never found anyone like me before.

He saw pictures too, it seemed, but not quite like mine: he had to touch the person so see something about them, and could hear their thoughts when he touched them, too, almost like he became part of their mind and its future. He could read only one person at a time—whereas my pictures deluged me with images from everyone around me at times, especially when I knew the people, and when something important was about to happen. My pictures and visions were flickering, sometimes transparent, unless it was something particularly close and certain, whereas when he saw the future of others it was as if he saw through their eyes, and experienced the sounds and smells of that future as well.

He had been seeking me, or someone like me, for a very long time. He had seen a future for himself with me, long ago, something that didn't often happen to him. He had become a doctor in the hopes that one day he could find me; he specialized in treating people in places like this: a mental asylum, a madhouse, a sanitarium, I realized now. He knew that someone with a gift like mine would probably be labeled defective, need to be fixed, that I would need help whenever he found me.

He told me about finding me.

"I arrived here in St. Joseph a few months ago, from an asylum in New York," he began one day, as if I had asked. Maybe I had with my thoughts.

"I was tired of the way they ran that place, the poor people caged like animals, covered in their own filth. I heard of this hospital, that they were experimenting with new treatments, focusing on trying to cure the diseased mind, rather than simply imprisoning and restraining the body. I hoped for something different." He sighed, sounded regretful.

"Here, I found a different place, certainly, but not better. At least in New York they were honest about what they did, unapologetic. They were there to protect the insane and violent from themselves and protect the rest of society from them, through whatever means necessary." He paused, as if considering, before he went on. "I do suppose there is some small honor in that, to such a clear purpose so unambiguously carried-out...But to masquerade torture as therapy, to pretend that it is anything besides a series of horrors that no one, not even the meanest of degenerates, should truly endure...That is an abomination that should not be allowed."

His hand clutched mine, strong but not hurtful. I somehow knew he could crush my tiny fingers if he wanted to, but that he never would.

"The director of this facility is a…" He trailed off, almost like he was at a loss for words—something I was sure he never truly was. I guessed he was trying to be kind in his choice of phrase; he was always a gentleman, soft-s´poken and courteous. "Well, he is what passes for an educated man in this present society. He has traveled extensively, he attended university in Europe, knew Freud, but doesn't think much of his theories of therapy." He chuckled. "He much prefers the methods another man discovered in the slaughterhouses, the method he has tried out on you several times, with the electricity."

His voice became like steel. "I fear, my love, that although you are one of the first unfortunate ones on this continent to experience that particular 'therapy', you will not be the last, by far. I have seen that much in his mind, in his zeal for proselyting his cause."

I heard him shift in his chair, rest an elbow on the bed next to me. I smelled his delicious scent and drifted a bit. He was silent for a while, as if lost in thought; I didn't mind the silence, it was calm, not oppressive. Finally he spoke again, his voice a bit warmer.

"On my first day here, I toured this hospital with him. The director. He was very proud of his wards, so sparkling clean and organized, cleaned by the more capable patients, of course—he says that hard work distracts the sick mind from its delusions." He snorted, derisive. "More like captive slave labor, I should say.

"First we toured the men's wings, the various levels of security. Very innovative, this, segregating each class of the mentally ill according to the severity of its maladies. Intelligent, actually, something I must give him credit for; it decreases problems, keeping the psychotics and violent away from the simply depressed and delusional." His fingers ran along my forearm, rested on my hand. "He proudly showed me his 'treatment rooms,' as he called them. I saw all the various methods he deals with the deranged. I saw the rooms filled with stacks of restraints, saw the isolation chambers and twirling chairs and the needle bath showers."

I shuddered at the memories, at the raw cold pain of them. His hand pressed mine gently, reminding me that I was safe. I relaxed again, listening in the dark.

"The women's wings were also clean and neat. More so, I suppose, given the general predilection that the fairer sex has for tidiness." He chuckled. "I saw much fewer women in the restraints, of course, for women are not often given to violent mental illness. They are more given to depressiveness, to melancholia. Or so it is said, by the current philosophies. However, I," he said quietly, "I, for one, believe that this 'tendency toward melancholy' is less to be attributed to the supposed innate weakness of the female mind than to the desire of male humans to dominate, to keep their women quiet and submissive." He laughed, a sound like bells. "Imagine, human men, afraid of human women. It's quite funny, actually."

I smiled, although the joke of it eluded me. I was happy to hear him laugh. I was also amazed at how he spoke; no one had ever spoken like that to me, with big words and complicated phrases...fully expecting me to understand, like he was speaking to an equal.

He continued. "While we were touring the higher-security women's hallway, the director turned to me, conspiratorial and sly, and smiled at me. He asked me if I wanted to see something wonderful, his pride and joy. A personal triumph, he said. I said yes, of course. Why not?

"So we left the main hallway, and he used a key from his waistcoat pocket to open a door, a nondescript door, no sign or number. Anonymous.

"Inside the room was a table, and all the workings for the electroshock therapy that I had heard about from Europe. Apparently, he had been the protégée of a doctor in Vienna who had been experimenting with that technique for, oh, ten years or so by then. He fancied it the latest, best treatment therapy for truly delusional people, and especially for the violent and deranged, the criminally insane. It makes them compliant and receptive, he said, their diseased minds are wiped clean of their wicked fancies, and we are able to implant proper notions there instead. That his professor had learned it in a slaughterhouse, where they used the technique to pacify the cows and pigs before they cut their throats." His voice was tight with rage.

Suddenly, it was as if I was _there_ again, in that room. My stomach clenched violently in memory. My eyelids squeezed shut even tighter, I drew in upon myself, I could smell my hair burning, I could almost feel the current coursing through me. My breath came raggedly, painfully, in terror. I had been trying not to remember those things.

I was immediately in his arms, small as a little girl. He held me tightly to him, shushed me. I cried into his shirt for a while, hitching, anguished sobs, and he let me, patting my back like I was a child. Eventually my grief ran its course, and I was able to draw a breath without it catching in my throat. I waited for him to continue his story.

"Well, sweetheart, I had to hide my disgust, of course. The man was my employer. Although I wanted to slaughter him then and there, I held myself in check, knowing that I couldn't do that. Even more important than not allowing my…differences…to become known, I did not, could not, allow any part of that foul man to become part of me."

I wondered absently at that. I knew he was different, my angel, but I wasn't sure how, exactly. _What did that mean, "part of me?" Like he would eat the man? _I shivered a little at the idea. He laughed softly, although the laughter had an edge to it, a self-mocking tone that I didn't understand; he must have gotten something of my thoughts from our touching hands. I decided to ignore the disturbing thoughts.

"Anyway, he went on about the wonders of this therapy, that he was corresponding with his old master in Europe and giving him progress reports. I asked the director how many patients he was currently…treating. He told me that at the moment only one, a young woman." He paused, his arms tightening around me for a moment before continuing. "I was a bit taken aback—a young woman? I asked him. Surely, she is not one of your deranged, violent psychotics?

"The director laughed and said no, he had had several of those in the past, that they had all provided him with a wealth of information, solid-gold research material, he called it, before they either died or were rendered completely catatonic and unresponsive. He had chosen this particular subject due to the profound nature of her malady, and with the approval of her family, he said." His voice was profoundly sad, a soft whisper, but every word stabbed at me.

_The approval of her family_, he had said. What they had done to me here had been _known about_ and _approved of_ by them, by my _father_, surely not by my mother. How long had it been, how long had I been there?

"Ten years, Alice. You have been here ten years, as of next month." Again, softly, sadly.

I began to cry again, broken, shattered into a million pieces by this.

_Half my life. I've been in this dark place for __**half my life**__. And my family has known, approved, left me here, never came back to get me, never cared if they __**fixed**__ me or not._ I felt so alone, so worthless.

Feeling my anguish, he murmured in my ear how beautiful I was, how special, how wonderful I was. They knew nothing, those people. Pearls before swine. Diamonds before swine. He held me until it passed, this time a much longer time than before.

When he began again his tone was heavy, sad. "Of course the sadistic pig wanted to _tell_ me more, but he didn't actually want to _show_ you to me. He was very…almost protective of you, jealous of allowing someone to see you, to perhaps offer another opinion on your case. But I prevailed upon him to show you to me, because I was suddenly consumed by the knowledge that you were the one I have searched for all this time." He stopped, his cold hands cradling my face between them. "I was looking for you, Alice, for all that time. Only you."

He had rescued me. I was special. Soon, we could be together in every way, always together. I wanted that so much, was so grateful. I just needed time to heal, to recover from what had been done to me, to understand kindness and love for the first time.

I loved him, and he loved me. Simple. Easy as breathing. I didn't know his name, but it wasn't important. He cared for me like a baby, bathing and dressing me, combing my hair because I was still so weak; I felt no shame anymore. I didn't have to talk, if he touched me, because he heard my thoughts, saw my future; it was a joy to be able to be understood so easily. My pictures didn't frighten him. They were part of me, a part he loved dearly. A part like himself.

He finally began again.

"As he escorted me to your holding cell, he told me about you, Alice.

"You were nineteen, he said, and had been 'in his care' for about three years now. Your father had brought you here to St. Joseph when you were a little girl, saying that you were possessed of the devil, that you saw visions of the future like a croaking raven, that you were a lunatic." His voice turned icy with hate. "I cannot imagine what that man could possibly have thought. No one who sees your sweet face could ever think you anything but an angel."

_Me? Angel?_ No, no, he had it all wrong. _He_ was _my_ angel.

"He unlocked your cell with aplomb and fanfare, almost like he was unveiling his masterpiece, a work of art." My angel squeezed my face gently, lovingly. "I can agree with that part. You are indeed a work of art, my Alice." I flushed with pleasure.

His voice became heavy again, full of anger and grief.

"You were there in the chair, as you always were, I realized. I have never heard of anyone confined to the tranquilizer chair for so long; normally, the subject is confined for a few hours, perhaps a day, to deprive them of their senses, to supposedly make them pliant and open to ideas other than their delusions. That is the theory behind it, at least.

"You were sleeping, although I suppose it was more that you were unconscious. I could smell the laudanum in your blood from there. Even so, tainted like that, I had never smelled anything like that in my entire long existence." His voice warmed, became softer than velvet, took on a tone of longing. Almost...hungry.

"I had a theory, based on things I had seen in the past, of other members of my kind who encountered members of your kind who are so…appealing…to us. You always smell good, you understand, but some are more intensely attractive to certain of my kind than others, as if their blood were created especially for that particular one." He paused, took a breath, inhaling, like smelling a flower. Chuckled again, low, rich.

"When humans smell that wonderful, that bewitching, to one of my kind, there is something there that binds them to each other, and it is... undeniable."

He paused, his lips close to my ear. I shivered in anticipation.

"We have to decide what to do with that bond, you see," he whispered, barely audible. "We have to decide, do we make that person part of us... _literally_, or _figuratively_. We must choose whether to give in to the thirst or to the lust, Alice. There is no other way. It is too much to bear. Once you have experienced that, there is no undoing it: a crossroads is before you, and you must choose for better or worse."

The cool breath in my ear raised gooseflesh along my neck, shoulders, arms...followed by a slow warmth that spread throughout me like a delicious cloud. I'd never experienced anything like that ever before.

He continued, sounding breathless.

"I decided then, seeing you there, smelling your incredible scent, hearing your heartbeat and the blood rushing through your veins…" Hard fingers pressed gently against the hollow of my neck; I shivered. "I decided that I couldn't live without you, that I couldn't live with myself if I allowed the thirst to win."

My heart galloped, sped, like a racing horse.

"You're _mine_."

His breath caressed my face, as if his mouth were inches, centimeters, away from mine. It didn't matter to me, him speaking of blood and thirst; I ignored it deliberately, pushed it aside, focused on him, hovering there above me. I suddenly wished he would kiss me, would do something other than the chaste caresses and pecks he gave me. I felt my blood singing through my veins as if electrified, but this electricity didn't frighten me: it made me feel more _alive_, more _real_, than I had ever felt. My hands clutched at his sleeves, grasping for a hold, trying to pull him closer. My lips strained for his, my breath coming in short, labored gasps.

He sighed and loosed his hold on me, laying me back onto the bed again, pressing me gently but firmly into the pillows with nothing but controlled affection.

"Ah, Alice, you must be patient, as I must be," he reprimanded me gently. "As wonderful as you smell, my love, if I allowed both of us to give in to what we wish, it would be the death of us both, I fear." His laughter was quiet. "I am not that well-controlled, I know that much of myself, after all this time. What I already do is hard enough."

Rejection flooded me, and embarrassment. But then something struck me, something I hadn't allowed myself to think about before.

_Smell?? I smell wonderful??_ I pondered that muddily for a moment. It must have shown on my face, because he laughed again, and I felt shamed again. _My blood?_

Once again his cold finger traced my brow, then the curve of my nose, the angle of my cheekbones.

"Rest assured, beautiful, that it is not without regret that I must restrain us both. For I wish you to be much more than my next meal."

His hand patted my shoulder comfortingly, then he quickly continued with his story before I could begin to grasp what he had just said. It was as if he had never stopped telling me, hadn't rendered me into a puddle of quivering, gasping lust moments before.

"The director told me that you had been possessed of delusions and visions since the earliest time of your childhood, and that often the predictions you made came true. He attributed that to a demonic influence, the idiot. So-called man of science, batting about words like demons and witchcraft, bah.

"He said that in the course of trying to rid you of your malady, your demon perhaps, that he had tried every known treatment and had no real success." He spoke through clenched teeth. "Before him, they had put you in the tranquilizer chair, they spun you, they drugged you with laudanum, they put you into the needle baths, all trying to break open your mind, to gain access to that part of you that clings to your visions, to try to wipe them away. The new director kept that course of treatments, but added to it, as well." He clutched my hand again, angry once more. I was so glad that his anger was not directed at me, I knew somehow that it would be fierce and undeniable, and hopeless for the target of that rage. He continued again after a moment, and this time his voice swelled with pride, with love.

"But you were stronger than that, Alice," he whispered, adoringly. "Your gift is no sickness. It is a gift, a talent, like mine. And your mind is strong, stronger than anyone else's mind I have ever seen in all my years. You held on, my love, by the tips of your fingernails, to yourself. Because you were waiting for me, as I have waited for you, for so long."

I felt as if I would die with the joy of those words.

How right he was, how I had clung to myself and to sanity, and had almost lost the battle with the darkness. If he had not come for me, I would have lost that battle. I would be a drooling, compliant lump of flesh in the corner of a dark room somewhere, _**Alice gone bye-bye.**_

"I knew, as I said before, that you were the one I had sought, the one whose blood sang for me, and that I had to free you. I wanted to rip you from that infernal chair right then, to flee with you, and make you mine right that moment. But I knew I had to wait for just a little while, for the right opportunity."

_**Why???**_ I screamed inside my head, for the first time feeling betrayed by my angel, my savior. _Why did you let them keep doing those things to me???_

His voice was sad when he answered my unspoken scream.

"Alice, I know you know that I am different from you, that I am not exactly, er…human." I felt him stroke my hair back from my forehead tentatively, as if he were suddenly afraid that I would draw away in fear or revulsion. I just waited, hoping for more explanation.

"I do not want to go into particulars right now, I cannot, but please understand me, I have already said too much already, Alice, that I mean you no harm. To the contrary, actually, I want to be with you forever."

Forever was a long time. Literally, _forever?_

I thought again of the pictures I had seen when he first saved me, of us together, running, white and glistening like diamonds, our eyes blood red, fleet and fast like no one had ever been before.

_**Immortal.**_

I knew that is what we were in that picture. When he said forever, he meant it, _literally_.

So he wanted me to be like _him_? The thought frightened me with its strangeness. Like I had a choice to make. A choice no one is ever really given.

No one is ever given an option to _choose_ immortality, are they? That's something the pharaohs and barbarian emperors had struggled to have for all of human history, and never gotten anything other than their names in tales and their bodies in tombs and depicted in statues. The priests in church had said we could have life everlasting if we do what the Good Book says, but only after we've actually _died, right?_ True immortality of the body isn't possible.

_**Is it?**_

I wanted to be with him, always, but I was a human girl, and had no concept of anything else. What would it mean, what would it feel like? _Would I still be me? Still Alice?_

His fingers tightened around mine, drawing my hand up to kiss my knuckles one at a time, urgently, like he was comforting me, reassuring me. His lips were like his hands, cold, hard, smooth as silk. His breath washed across my hand like a blessing.

"Please don't be afraid, Alice. If you don't want to be like me, you don't have to be, we will make do with the time we shall have," he promised in a hushed voice, but I heard the terror in it, terror that I might choose that exact option. It confused me. Why would he be afraid of me staying _me?_

"I could not bear to be without you, my Alice. And I know of no way to die, to escape the pain of losing you, so I would wander, alone, heartbroken, for all of eternity. I would become a monster." His voice shook.

"I have tried so hard for over a thousand years to not be a monster, to only feed when the need was insurmountable, to only take the dying, the terminally ill, the comatose, sometimes the criminal, although I despise that." Disgust colored his words. "It's as if their evil becomes part of me, and believe me, my love, it is hard enough to resist the monster without consuming the monstrous."

_**FEED??? CONSUME??? **_I was horrified at the realization of what he meant.

He sighed again, pulled his hand away as if in resignation, and his voice was sad, and seemed somehow...hurt, rejected?

"All right, Alice, all right. I understand." I felt the ache of the absence of his touch like a physical pain, like a flashback to my struggle with my addiction, and instinctually reached out for him, unable to resist, despairing.

His fingers clutched mine again, and it was like I was whole. Like he felt he was whole, too.

He resumed his story as if all the talk of immortality and consumption of the evildoer had never taken place, and I was relieved by not having to deal with it. I focused on his voice alone, and started to feel better almost immediately.

"Apparently the director had taken to shocking you about once a week at first, although after you had tried to kill yourself by smashing your poor head against the walls he said he was 'forced' by your psychotic, self-destructive episode to do it more frequently." His tone was disapproving, but I knew it was almost as disapproving of the idea of me trying to hurt myself as it was of the director's zeal for his therapeutic techniques.

"He stopped spinning you altogether to reduce your vomiting, increased your laudanum dose to increase your compliance, started trying the new idea of trying to sweat out the bad humors through an artificially induced fever by having your room heated to practically boiling." He grunted a derisive laugh. "Although he almost cooked your brain with that a few times, giving you heatstroke. Stupid man, you didn't have syphilis!"

His voice softened, became sad again.

"But the maltreatment worked in a way, I suppose. It accomplished his goal of taming you, and once you had become more biddable he stopped restraining you completely. He said you were very quiet, composed, and seemed…blank. Yes, that was the word. _Blank_."

He stopped, and both of his hands cupped around my face; when he resumed, his voice was urgent, rapid, almost panicked.

"I knew then that I had to act quickly, that you were close to the breaking point. I could not risk losing you. But I could not simply act without weighing my course of action carefully. Although I could break you out of there so easily it wasn't even fair to think of the risk, I knew I had to be cautious.

"There are those in my world who...frown upon untoward displays of strength and power by the rest of us." He stopped, considering again, then continued cautiously, as if afraid to say something. "They have decreed that we must always be circumspect in our dealings with mortals, even in feeding, to avoid drawing undue attention to ourselves.

"I am known to them, for I am almost as old as they are, and they know they can find me easily should I transgress any laws...And I wish to cherish my existence with you, my Alice, not damn it to an untimely demise."

Although I didn't understand anything he said, really, I was comforted by his words. Somewhere, in the arcane mentionings of age and laws and power, was the desire to be with me forever. To cherish me always. I could live with vagueness for a while, I supposed, if it meant we would get what we both wanted. I hungered for the freedom and beauty of that vision, for the wonder of an eternal, ever-new love.

His thumbs stroked my lips, caressed my closed eyelids. "So I made my plan, determined how I would save you from this place and that man's evil purposes for you. I decided what to do, considered every detail.

"I immediately began cultivating a friendship of sorts with the director, though the idea disgusted me. I have a very long, respectable educational pedigree, and a great deal of prestige and commendation in my field. He was flattered in my interest in his research, and confided everything in me. Eventually, he allowed me to take over the women's wards, although he kept your personal care in hand always. He was, as I said, jealous of you, like a child with a cherished toy." My angel's voice was twisted with bitterness.

"When he was away for a medical conference in London, I made my move. I announced an outbreak of typhus on the ward, sent the orderlies and nurses away on pain of dismissal, and cared for all the patients myself. I declared a quarantine of the ward, and no one dared trespass.

"The next day I opened the door to your cell. No, I didn't need a key," he chuckled, "I have my own methods. And there you were, poor thing, half-dead, but you shone like the sun for me, Alice, and you always will, _forever_."

I brought my own hands up to touch his face, marveling at the smooth coldness of his cheeks. I felt him smile under my fingers.

"And so, I took you here, my Alice, in the dead of night to my humble rooms a block from the asylum. Then I did something I regret, but considered necessary." He paused, the brief lull almost like he was giving a moment of silence in remembrance for the dead.

"I set fire to the ward, Alice, very close to your cell. I freed the patients, knowing some would get away and never be seen again, and that it would cause untold confusion, making it easier for me to do what must be done. And I had to kill a woman, my darling, I am so sorry. I had to make it seem as if you had died in the fire, place a body there, someone close enough in size to you, for the director to inspect. To keep the secret."

I felt a jolt of fear and wonder thrill through me: fear that he was capable of something like this, and wonder that he was capable of something like this for _me_.

He continued heavily. "Poor thing, she was catatonic anyway, I suppose death was just like life to her anyway, but I still despise rationalizations for evil deeds. It somehow cheapens good ones, to try to turn one into the other. But I still can't bring myself to even consider having not done what I did. It made _us_ possible, it made it possible for me to help you come out of that stinking hole, to come back into the light." He brightened.

"And so now, my love, you have your story, how I found you. Now you can tell me the story of our future, eh?

"Tell me something, Alice. Anything. See something for me, my darling," he asked, delighted in my visions, different from his, but so similar. That was the first time he asked me, but far from the last.

I basked in his approval, it warmed me like the sun. Whenever he asked me, without ever opening my eyes or mouth, I would obey, so happy to please him. Usually I would see something good. Something helpful. He approved. It was becoming easier to focus and control the pictures when they came, and I could make them come at will by concentrating on someone, something specific. I had never been able to do that before, when I had been consumed by fear and the disapproval of others. I told him what I saw, of us living together, traveling, loving, learning. It was wonderful, for us both.

With his help, I began remembering things, things from before I had been brought to the dark place.

I remembered my mother, always so shy and quiet, never standing up to my father and his bourbon-soaked rages for herself, but trying her best to keep me and my sister from harm with her own body. She had suffered so much to keep up safe, and lost me in the end, anyway, despite her best efforts. I remembered her pale blue eyes, how she whistled while she kneaded the piecrusts for my favorite blackberry pies, how she had dimples that showed only when she grinned broadly, or laughed hard—something she didn't do nearly enough. I wondered how often she laughed now, without me there, whether she missed me at all. I had somehow managed to get her to laugh, even when things were horrible.

I remembered my father, although those memories were bitter and I disliked the taste of them in my mind. I didn't concentrate on them to understand details. He had never really loved me, I knew, he thought I was perhaps some other man's child, with my tiny frame and black hair, so unlike him and even my mother or sister. They were all golden-haired, tall. I was like a changeling to him, a scrawny, unwelcome little being with uncomfortably sharp eyes and frightening visions of his own future.

The only thing I remembered clearly about him was the reason he had dragged me to the asylum: I had seen him dead, lying face-down in the mud in the front garden, clutching a whiskey bottle in his stiff, cold fingers. When I had guilelessly told him what had shocked me so, that image of his death, he had flown into a rage, striking me to the ground, called the priest, then had hauled me off to the nuthouse, screaming about demons.

I realized with a flash that he was dead now. That I had seen exactly the truth, and that his self-hatred and guilt in what he had done to me, in bringing me here in the first place and then agreeing to let the director torture me, had brought that vision home with the deafening thunder of inevitability

I was hard-pressed to feel more than regretful that I'd been right. The dutiful daughter in me was barely enough to restrain my shameful relief that he was, finally, gone.

More happily, I remembered Cynthia.

My Cynthia, who is five years younger than me. She was only five when I was taken from her. I wondered how that had affected her as she grew, having to see me dragged away like that. We had been very close, I recalled. I had dressed her like one of my dolls when she was a baby, had carried her on my hip everywhere with me, even though I was so small for my age she was half my size by her third birthday. I had stopped growing when I was ten.

I used to braid and arrange Cynthia's long yellow hair in fanciful ways, and I made her clothes with my own hands, as my mother had shown me, out of left-over pieces of fabric from my mother's sewing projects. I made up designs and executed them with varying degrees of success, but it never had mattered to Cynthia if it fit her like a potato sack or a ballgown. It had thrilled me to see her like a living doll, sitting on my bed, her pink, plump cheeks flushed with pleasure at my approval. She adored me, and I adored her.

I also remembered things that I had liked, had loved, things that had defined me.

I loved to dance. I had cut pictures of the prima ballerinas from the European ballet troupes when I found them in the papers and magazines, and pasted them to my bedroom walls, dreaming I could someday be so serene…so tall! I had always striven to carry myself well, had decided that, even though I was the skinny, under-sized, under-loved daughter of a working-class Irish Catholic family in rural Mississippi, that I would be graceful and elegant.

When I heard music, I couldn't help but dance, even when it was old-time gospel on the crackling, staticky-voiced Victrola, or even the canons at Mass, where I had gotten a cuff across the top of the head more than a few times by my father for my inability to restrain my dancing feet behind the pews. I danced to the music in my head when there was none, twirling and leaping through the cornfields that abutted our home, which was on the outskirts of town. No one saw me there, dancing with the nodding cornstalks, but I reveled in the feeling of the wind in my hair, of being able to defy gravity for a brief moment as I danced.

I also loved to sing, to draw. I enjoyed sitting on the porch of our house, watching passers-by and horses and birds and trees and homes. I tried my best to commit them to paper using a stub of charcoal and packing sacks. I made up little songs and sang them to my sister, to my mother, to the empty cornfield.

And of course, I loved my visions, my pictures. Loved them and hated them. They were mine, I was theirs. I worked on my pictures with my angel, learning more and more every day to see them more clearly, to focus on certain specific people. That was how I found out my father was dead—I saw my mother remarrying somewhere down the road, to a good man who finally treated her and Cynthia well. I was so glad, that they would have a happy ending.

I saw many things, and began to feel somewhat confident of my sight, to even be a bit proud of it.

Then one day I saw something different.

I had been dozing, curled up on my side, and my angel was holding me against him, a blanket between us to keep me from being chilled by his abnormally cold body. I didn't care. I knew he didn't sleep, that he watched over me while I dreamed, and I felt safe there.

With a blinding suddenness, I saw another beautiful being, sparkling like my savior, eyes red like my angel's, but these were fierce and malevolent, and I knew that he, too, wanted me.

But not in the same way.

He wanted to TAKE me, to end me, not like my love, who only wanted to heal me and make me whole and be with me. My savior's affection for me intrigued and infuriated him; he was a twisted being, this hunter. He reveled in the hunt, and not just the pursuit: he loved to take the thing that was most dear to his target, to inflict as much anguish and suffering on the victim as possible.

The hunter knew of my savior, could smell him, sense his presence here, and had seen him, knew how he loved me. He had been watching us for a long time now, while I recovered, but had just now decided to take me from my savior. The hunter coveted me, but only to crush me, in order to crush my angel.

I gasped out loud, and, for the first time, tried to sit up and open my eyes. I don't know how long it had been, it felt like months, but probably it had only been weeks. My ability to tell time had evaporated, rendered unnecessary by drugs and shocks and fevers in the cell and by drowsy recuperation here. The room was dim, my love gleamed beside me like marble.

"He's coming!" I screamed, clawing at the bed, frantic.

Cool stone arms wrapped around me, laid me back down; he extinguished the low lights that had burned my sensitive eyes.

"Softly, Alice, softly. Who? Who is coming?" he asked.

I screamed again, horrified, seeing the terrifyingly plain face in my mind.

"_**The hunter!"**_

He touched my face, saw what I saw, and in seeing that must have seen something of my own future in that touch, suddenly sucking in a hissing breath in realization. I felt his mood change, felt the way his normal hardness changed from loving firmness to a protective shielding around me.

"He won't have you, I swear it," he said grimly. Cold fingertips pressed against my lips, cool lips pressed against my closed eyelids.

"Rest, my love. It will be all right." He sat up then, tucking me gently back into the bed, kissing my forehead as he stood up.

I believed him. I knew he was right. I would be fine. I tried to still my mind and gain control over my fear. But suddenly the future's picture changed, for him, for me. He wasn't there anymore.

_**I'm alone!**_ Or was I?

Flickers, flashes, confusing images. People and places I didn't understand. It was all changing so fast, I couldn't make heads or tails of it.

I hadn't heard my angel leave while immersed in my musings consideration of these changes, my fear steadily growing as I sifted through the images coursing through my head. When I realized I was alone in the room, I froze in shock, my eyes flashing open again to the soft darkness of my new room.

_He'll come back for me, right?_ Of course he would. He loved me.

I heard noises then, sounds of struggle, crashes and thuds and screamings somewhere distant, somewhere outside my savior's little apartment. I somehow knew it came from the direction of the asylum, which he had said was only a block away. Heard doors opening and slamming. Glass breaking. Footsteps, running. The sounds of panic, of fighting, of fleeing. Even more horrible, low, menacing growls, like a predatory animal, close by, outside. I saw a terrifying glimpse of my angel and the hunter in my mind, locked in a death grip, crashing through walls and windows, struggling to gain the advantage, the screamings and growls and hisses deafening. I couldn't tell who was winning.

My fear increased. I curled into a ball, wrapped my arms around my knees like I had in my dark cell, terrified, shaking. I felt so alone. I felt the blackness returning, felt the laudanum craving start yowling in the back of my head, screeching that it could provide relief and release from the pain and fear. I screamed silently back at it, and it subsided a bit, sullen.

Then he was back, my angel, and his breathing was labored, as if he'd been running, but I knew he'd never tire, regardless of how much he ran. This must be fear, then. I felt a chill course down my spine, felt a wash of foreboding.

He gathered me to him. I felt the fear rolling off him in almost palpable waves. It terrified me. What could frighten him, of all people?

"Alice my darling, I need to do something now." He sighed in frustration. "I had planned to wait for this, to give you more time to prepare yourself, to heal...but I cannot risk more time. Not now. We have no time to waste, not even a moment." His tone was pleading, hopeful, and desperately frightened, somehow apologetic.

"It will hurt. Can you bear it? It is to help."

That startled me. I opened my eyes, looked above me. In the darkness I could barely discern his shape, and I reached up toward his face to touch it.

_Hurt?_ How much pain had I already endured? If it would help…I had heard that before. From my father. But this wasn't Father. This was my savior, my angel, who loved me. _Of course_, I could trust him.

I nodded. Anything for him. We would be together. I would be like him. I could stand the pain, if it was necessary. I nodded. He sighed again, this time in relief, then tensed again.

"God give me the strength to do this properly…" he murmured, his tone intense, prayerful.

Then he bent down over me, his shape a darker silhouette against the darkened room.

"I love you, Alice," he breathed, prayerfully.

Pain then. A brilliant, slashing pain—at my wrists, the insides of my elbows and palms, ankles and knees. Above my left breast, where my heart was shattering itself against the inside of my ribcage. What was this? Was he slashing me with a razor? Cutting me to ribbons?? I gathered my breath into my lungs, to scream, to fight.

_Why? What are you __**doing**__ to me??_

Then his face was hovering over me, silhouetted against the dimness of the room, his breath washing over my face again. His breathing came in labored pants, I could feel his hands locked around my forearms like iron clamps, not painful yet, but so close...

"Alice..." he murmured, lowering his face so close to mine, his lips skimming down the curve of my jawbone, down the column of my neck...I felt myself quiver, not in fear, but something else...

Cold, smooth lips on my neck, his tongue tracing my skin...Sharp pain again, right where my neck joined my shoulder, where the blood pulsed in my jugular, hammering with my tension...as if he were biting me...was he? _Biting me?_

_**Biting me??!!!**_

Through the pain I felt a drawing, a suction, at that place on my neck where his cold lips were fixed, as if he were trying to inhale me into himself...Was he? _**Drinking me?**_

After a long, agonizing moment, both of us motionless, rendered immobile by our separate fears and longings, he pulled away with a harsh cry.

"I'm sorry, Alice, so sorry!" he cried, sounding as if he were in agony.

Amazingly, I wanted to comfort him. The bloodflow from my neck seemed to have dried up almost immediately, the bright pain of the cut fading a bit, to a slow burn, like at the other sites of pain all over my body where he had bitten me, I now knew. I reached for him, to bring him closer, wanting him anyway. _Fool_, I whispered to myself.

_Why?_ I asked him silently.

He sighed raggedly, his fingers clutching mine as if I were saving him from drowning. He pressed his face into my hair, inhaling, as if trying to remember my scent.

The slow burn began to increase...Everywhere, a fire was kindling, as if using my flesh and bones as tinder...

"My love, this is how it has to be, this is how it is done" he whispered into my hair. Then he lowered his face to mine again, his lips so close..."Can you bear it, to be with me, to be safe?"

_**Yes.**_

He kissed me then, on the mouth, for the first time, and I tasted the intense sweetness of his breath, his hard, cold lips against mine, almost painful in the pressure of them, at the same time feeling the pain as something cut the inside of my mouth. It was a bizarre mixture of rapture and agony, my body responding with passion but also recoiling in fear. I smelled my own blood, tasted it welling up in my mouth, knew I was bleeding, that HE had cut me.

But it didn't matter anymore. We were going to be together. Safe. Forever.

Then the burning flared up, began in earnest. Began consuming me.

It had started where the pain had slashed me, then spread, charring me, like wildfire, through every part of me. I had never felt pain like that before. Words defied description. Even the shocks would have been welcome before this, would have felt like a little tickle, a caress. Burning like I was submerged in acid, in boiling oil, in lava. Broiled into cinders by a fire hotter than the center of the sun.

I screamed, my voice jagged and harsh, tearing my throat.

Screamed forever. Couldn't stop screaming.

I begged him to stop it, to stop the pain, to end the burning. I begged him to kill me. I writhed as I had never writhed before in the grips of the shocks. I heard his voice distantly, heard the agonizing sorrow in it. I heard him sobbing his tearless sobs.

"I'm so sorry, so so sorry, but it's for the best, my Alice. You're safe now, my beautiful. He won't want you now." He sounded like he was in agony, twisted by my pain, which I knew he could feel, he clutched my hand, trying to share it with me, so I wouldn't burn alone.

_But why won't the hunter want me anymore?_

Somehow through the pain, through the burning, I believed my angel. I trusted him.

I saw a picture in my mind's eye of myself, a picture unlike anything I had ever had before, more vivid, more solid, so real it was as if I could touch it and feel it. I was awake, alive, and beautiful beyond my wildest imaginings. My skin like his, white, sparkling, cold, unbelievably smooth. I felt a desiccating thirst, fiery, uncontrollable, in my hard, satin-smooth throat. My black hair would always be short now, it would never grow again. I saw my eyes, red and gleaming like rubies. I knew that my mind would expand like a balloon, with soaring vaulted openness, a capacity to think and learn that people aren't capable of, I knew I would be capable of understanding anything. I would be fast, and strong. So strong. I could protect myself. I didn't need him anymore.

_But I want him!_

I burned for time immeasurable. I don't know how long it was. Eternity.

At one point I felt him lift me up, clutch me to his chest like the most precious thing in the world, although the agony of being moved made me wish for death. I knew we were moving, fast, knew the light changed, dark and light and dark again, saw and felt the differences through my eyelids, felt the wind rush around us as we traveled. We moved for a long time, zigging and zagging, as if he was trying to flee from something. _The hunter?_

Eventually, he put me down again, this time on the ground, but I wasn't afraid, I knew he hadn't taken me back to my old cell. I thought we were back in the asylum, but wasn't sure. I heard his footsteps as he turned from me, facing away, heard his clothes brush against each other as he positioned himself in front of me. Somehow I knew he was crouching protectively.

I saw why. I saw a few seconds into the future, the picture coming hard and fast, like nothing I had seen before. My pictures unfolded before me in a panorama, and the real-life scenes followed my pictures seconds after. So close.

The hunter. He was here. He had followed us.

Trailed us, as my savior had ducked and dodged and avoided him, trying to lay false trails, eventually returning to the last place we should have gone, where it all began. But this hunter wasn't someone, something, easily shaken. He was frustrated, disgusted. And he was very, very angry. I heard his low, rumbling growl, menacing, close.

I saw in my mind's eye. I saw my savior spring, saw the hunter, crouched as well, springing to meet him, heard the thunderous crunch as they met, growling, roaring, hissing, their struggles merging into a barely visible blur of movement and sound. I heard metallic squeals and tearings, unlike anything I had ever heard before.

I sobbed. I couldn't open my eyes, I was still burning, but my mind was expanding so fast I could be terrified and anxious and burn at the same time, could see and feel each exquisite detail sharp and vivid in my mind and body.

He was losing. My angel was losing. I knew it. I saw it. I screamed. _No, no, please, no!_

In that instant I knew I was alone. I knew I would live forever, and I was alone. Empty. No one could take his place. We had been made for each other. I would always be alone.

Or would I?

Suddenly I was at a crossroads. Like the one my angel had spoken of, a place when I had to choose how my life would proceed. The choice was unavoidable, inevitable.

I saw, clearly, two paths stretching before me, both leading into forever. On both paths I was the person I knew the consuming fire was changing me into: lovely, pale, nearly indestructible, consumed with bloodlust and thirst, passionate, powerful, graceful beyond imagining, as I had always dreamed of. Those things would never change. I would never change again.

On the first path, stretching to my left, I walked alone. I hunted, I fed, I gloried in the thrill of the blood, which now was my bread and meat and wine. I understood now what my angel had said about blood, about feeding. I was a predator unlike any other, gorgeous and cold and utterly lethal, and my prey was…what I had been. On this path I didn't mind the screams of my victims, I didn't pity them. They were food for me, cattle. I enjoyed the thrill of the hunt, the fear in them, the satisfaction of the kill. I was immortal and strong and beautiful, and alone. I wandered, tossed about like a lonely leaf on the wind, no home. So, so alone. I clung to my memories of my savior, my maker. I was angry. I was filled with sorrow. I knew he had died for nothing, for me, who was ultimately worth nothing. I had become the monster, as he had said he had tried not to be for over a thousand years. Someone so good had saved me, healed me, changed me to keep me from being hurt again and to keep me always, and it had been for nothing, because I had become everything he did not, would not, be. My guilt was corrosive; I had carried it from mortality to immortality, and it shaped the stone of my substance into something twisted. I avoided others of my kind, too bitter to bear being around anyone else, especially someone who reminded me of my loss.

One the other path, stretching to my right, I wasn't alone. _He_ walked with me. But not my savior, someone else, someone even more wonderful. _How_ is that _possible_? Beautiful and hard and sparkling like me, like my savior had been, but golden-haired where my angel had been dark; the new man was tall, so strong, his beautiful pale skin scarred somehow, as if he had battled countless enemies and emerged victorious but marked by his trials. He was special, too, I knew: he made me feel things, made others feel things. I didn't know his name then, but I would know his face forever, would seek it in the face of every golden-haired stranger I met until I found it. At first his eyes were red, like my new ones would be…then his eyes weren't red anymore—they were golden, liquid. And mine were, too. Somehow I knew it, though in this vision I was looking through my own eyes. The thirst was still there, on that path, but channeled…I wasn't prisoner to my bloodlust, like on the other path. We made each other whole, this man and I, like one soul separated at the creation of the world in two parts, brought together and made one again. And we weren't alone, my lover and I. We had a home and a family waiting for us someday, and they had eyes like ours would be, once we found them. They had to teach us how to master that thirst, how to be stronger than it, to not be the monsters that we were supposed to be due to our thirst, how to exist peacefully and not hurt others. They would love us and help and protect us, and we would love and help and protect them. Family. Something I had never really felt, except from my mother and sister—the same mother who had let me be taken away from her, who had deep-down feared and distrusted me with my odd pictures. No: this would be real family. I wanted that life down that path like I had never wanted anything before. Even as my body burned, I wanted that new life.

What did I have to do, to choose? I knew that it required a sacrifice, to have that man, that family, that life. What was it? What did I have to give up?

It came to me suddenly.

My savior, my angel.

I had to let him go.

I had to let go of my horrible, bitter past. I had to start fresh, to not carry that pain and bitterness and sorrow forward into my new life with me—because if I allowed those sad, angry voyagers to travel with me into this new life, they would poison me, weigh me down, doom me to that solitary existence, shape me into the person I did not want to be, the kind of being my angel would despise.

I unconsciously grasped that what I was becoming was fixed, very hard to change, and to enter immortality burdened by such sadness and rage would twist me into the being on the left-hand path. I couldn't be with my golden-haired man on that path. I couldn't be with anyone—I could barely be with myself.

Somehow, I knew that if I didn't cling to my memories from before that I would forget them, eventually, they would become distant and muddy, vague and unreal. But this was different, what I needed to do not to be twisted into a monster.

I made a very purposeful effort, somehow, amid the burning and agony. I pushed all thoughts of my old life from me. I concentrated on the burning, used the pain to push myself forward, like I was birthing myself. I felt the pressure squeezing in on me, shaping me, hardening me. Smoothing away the past.

I clutched that fire to myself, urging it deeper into me, using the pain to push things out of me, and I let them go: Mama, Father, my sister…my angel, my captors, my torturers, the priest…my childhood, my loves and hates and preferences and foibles and peculiarities, memories, wishes, dreams, hopes, fears. All the things tying me to who I had been before.

I locked them all in the chest of my heart, the heart that was now dying inside me, and I set it afire inside me, that same all-consuming, transforming fire that blazed along my bones.

I would emerge from this fire purified, clean, empty, a vessel ready to be filled, knowing that my purpose was to find that man, find that family.

In my empty, echoing new mind, as the last memories were being burned away, I wrote my name on a piece of paper, _**Mary Alice Brandon**_, and held it close to me, the only thing I would allow to pass into my new life with me. I could at least remember my own name.

The pain was fading from my fingers. I knew I could control myself now, could feel the new strength coursing through me even through the burning.

All of that had taken the span of a few seconds. What had happened outside of my mind? It had seemed like an eternity, but only moments had passed. So different.

The moment I felt capable of opening my eyes again I heard the shrieking metallic tearing and anguished screams that marked my entrance into my immortal life like a rung bell.

_Who am I? Where am I?_

Hadn't I asked those same questions before, so many times? Had I? Or was I imagining? I couldn't remember anymore. I only really remembered the burning, the darkness.

_What was that sound?_

The world was vivid, inexplicable, even though the room I was in was dark. The detail was bewildering. I felt, heard, smelled _everything_, in blindingly clear detail.

Someone stood before me, chest heaving, crimson eyes glistening like fresh blood. His skin glistened, but he was unremarkable otherwise. But still, I knew this creature was _dangerous_, that I should be wary. Every fiber of me screamed caution.

I still felt the fire in my veins, burning, retracting, pulling toward my heart; it was hard to focus on anything but the pain, but I sat up, stared at this other creature, transfixed.

"Who are you?" I whispered, and didn't recognize my own voice. Like chiming crystal bells. So pretty. I lost myself in it for a moment.

He recoiled from the sound of my voice and threw something white and hard aside, where it bounced against the wall and fell to rest beside me, quivering horribly. I tried not to see it, but I knew what it was: the remains of whomever he had just destroyed. I knew vaguely that I should know who that had been, that it should bother me, who this hunter had destroyed, but I didn't let myself think about it.

The creature hissed at me. "Damn you!" His voice was like mine, ringing, clear, but not so beautiful.

He ground his teeth, curled his lip like he would spit at me. "Worthless. You're worthless!" he grated, and then, like he had never been there, he was gone, vanished into the darkness with unimaginable speed.

I absently realized I was capable of the same speed, perhaps more.

I slumped back, still burning, frightened, drained. My breath came in rapid, painful gasps.

That was when it happened: my heart, exploding within me in a final agonizing surge, driving all mortality from me.

I screamed, shrieked, writhed on the floor, scrabbling at the stones with my fingernails, begging for the end. My heart thudded one last, agonizing time.

Then it was over.

Total silence inside me, echoing stillness. No heartbeat. No breath. The absence of pain was stunning.

I opened my eyes again; I was in a room, surrounded by stacked boxes and crates, some kind of storage area. It smelled damp, dank: a basement? I knew it was dark, that I shouldn't be able to see, but I could. The world shimmered; I could see the splinters on the crates, see the drifting cobwebs in the corners of the room, feel every grain of grit on the floor beneath me. I knew I didn't need to breathe but I did anyway, inhaling the scents of the room. I smelled smoke. Fire?

I knew, instinctually, that I needed to flee. Fire was deadly to me, more than it had been...before?

_Before what?_

Some instinct took over my body, and I was suddenly outside in the darkness of a moonless night. I had moved without even thinking about it, the action and reaction automatic, without a gap between intention and completion. It had taken no effort, no accelerated heartbeat or labored breathing to show for my speed. Just the smooth, implacable silence of my body.

I looked up and saw the building, a black hulk again the sky, saw the faint glow of the spreading fire through the windows. Every square inch of the building, every licking flame of the fire, was unbelievably clear. The stars shone in the sky like diamonds, their light piercingly bright to my new eyes, but not painful. I could distinguish them as clearly as if they were right in front of me.

I smelled a sweet, cloying smell mixed with the smell of the burning building, something foreign, something I knew was the smell of someone, _something_, like me, burning. I knew I had to flee, had to get away.

The night was cool and sweet around me as I ran, unconscious in my strength and speed. My throat burned. I was so thirsty. My body cried out for blood.

The thought didn't bother me. All that mattered was slaking that thirst.

A smell, like nothing I had ever smelled before, struck me: alluring, bewitching, the most delicious thing in the universe. Hot, wet, coursing through veins and arteries, beckoning me, inflaming my thirst. So close.

I saw her then, a small girl, crouching the shadows, eyes wide in fear. Ragged clothes, dirty face, tangled hair, no shoes. A street child. Her smell. Her blood. Magnetic, irresistible, delicious. What I needed to slake this jagged thirst. I had to do it. I had no choice.

How terrifying I must have looked to her, with my red eyes and white skin, someone barely bigger than a child herself, with her death in my hands?

I took her unthinkingly, drank, cast her aside, and fled once more, my thirst slaked a little bit, knowing that I had to avoid discovery. Even a street urchin like that might be missed eventually, her body might be found. I had to hide; I ran silently, invisible through the night, the dark was my friend.

I was immortal, I was lovely, but I wasn't impervious, I could be destroyed. The one who had been there when I had awakened, the hunter, was still out there. He knew how to kill me, and perhaps he would change his mind about it? I felt a thrill of fear at the idea. I knew he could find me if he wanted.

I settled into the dimness beneath a house's broad porch, reveling in my new, vivid senses.

The night glowed in all the colors of the rainbow, plus another color I knew no name for, felt alive, pulsing, vibrant. I could hear so clearly: pedestrians breathing and their footsteps and heartbeats; the activities inside the houses, murmurs and laughter, dishes and pans clattering and rattling about; the clop-clop of horses' hooves on the road a mile away, a nightingale singing, the wind sighing through the trees…

I felt the strength coursing through my body like an electric current; I knew that I was graceful, every movement like dancing. I could smell everything around me, identify it immediately: growing grass, dirt, sweat, chimney smoke…_blood_.

I could hear and smell blood, coursing through the veins of the people in the house above me, as clearly as I could see my cold, hard, bloody white hands spread before me in the dirt. Blood. My throat burned again, the thirst reasserting itself already.

I smelled the blood on myself, looked down at my stained hands, and felt a sudden surge of revulsion. The little girl's horrified, dirty face rose before me in my mind, a memory, not a vision, her eyes sightless now. She hadn't even had time to scream. I couldn't see her future because I had taken it from her, left an empty spot in the world where she should be.

I wondered why I was here. Things were so dim. So cloudy.

_Who was I? Who am I now? Where had I been before, before the burning?_

I knew I should remember things about myself, remember what had happened before the burning and the blackness, before I had awakened…but I knew, deep down, that I shouldn't try to remember. It was best. But still, _what _was I?

_A monster?_ A monster. Yes. A blood-drinking monster.

I thought back to the burning time, the first clear memory I had.

Remembered my vision. I remembered the paths then, at the crossroads, and remembered making a choice.

This was part of it. I had to drink blood, but I hated it. I couldn't let the lust for it rule me.

_Why?_

Why was it wrong to be what I was without apologies?

_Because I don't want to be a monster_.

I didn't have to be one. There was another way.

_**Alice?**_

A name, scribbled on a charred piece of paper in my mind's eye, a name that looked like it was part of a larger whole, but everything before and after Alice was burned, gone.

The name struck me. I was Alice.

_**I am Alice.**_

Alice is beautiful and wonderful and special. Alice in Wonderland.

_Who?_

I wondered, marveled again above me, at the glimmering stars set like diamonds in the black velvet sky. So close, as if I could reach up and gather them in my hands to scatter like seeds. Glittering like my skin, hard and faceted and lovely like diamonds.

I saw something, something that wasn't there, but was still real. Oddly familiar, like déjà vu, like something I should remember but couldn't.

_**Pictures.**_ Hovering in my mind, behind my eyelids, but I could still see them with my eyes open. They were real, like_ life_ had never been—I didn't remember anything before that moment, so I had no basis of comparison, but I had a hunch that it was true.

What I saw were not pictures really, not visions. _**Realities**_. More detailed, more…full, three-dimensional, than those other words encompassed. Also, besides the…pictures, for lack of a better term…I could see flickers of other possibilities, all around, other options, that could transform into realities if the right choices were made.

I didn't know how I could possibly understand that, but I did. It was as if it were as much a part of me as this glittering new skin, and the thirst. I understood the pictures because they _were_ me.

I closed my eyes, concentrating. A shifting mosaic, a kaleidoscope of events and people, all twined together, but I could separate them if I chose. I could follow multiple paths for multiple people, even for myself.

I focused for a moment on myself, on the future I had seen and hungered for while I had burned, the first thing I recalled besides the burning blackness.

My vision beckoned, vivid, _real_.

_My man, my golden-haired man, smiling at me,_ his eyes bottomless with love for me. My family, with the golden eyes. The tamed thirst. Not being a monster anymore.

He smiled at me, a sad but sweet smile, beautiful, perfect, lovely, despite the scars, despite the red eyes, despite the torture I saw reflected in those eyes, of a life haunted by guilt and regret.

_My life_. He was my life. He and I would be together, always. And we would have a family. We would be _good._

I stood up, dusted myself off, and headed toward my future. He was waiting.

I even knew his name now. It came to me like a revelation, like a beam of light, a bolt of lightning from a clear starry sky.

_**Jasper.**_

I smiled, began to run, without a clue as to where, but I had to move, I had to find him. He was waiting for me somewhere, and I would find him, and take his hand, and we would walk into forever together. I set off down the road, away from here, toward him.

Forever beckoned.

I would embrace it with open arms, complete, the crossroads behind me and long-forgotten, like a dream in the bright light of morning.

The cool sweet darkness of night swallowed me up, as I began the first part of my long journey to my destiny.


	2. Chapter 2: Detour

_**Chapter 2: Detour**_

_**I love New York City in the morning**_**.**

There is an almost palpable feeling of excitement to the air, in the morning, as the New Yorkers begin their workdays. I watch them all. Businessmen in their suits and hats, clutching their briefcases as they dash in and out of the subway stations, on their way to their high-rise offices. Laborers in their dungarees, toting the tools of their trade, heads down and faces set with resignation to the coming day's hard work. Newsboys on the corner, shouting out the headlines, imploring people to buy their stacks of folded newspapers. Women bustling by in their various styles, some in the newfangled short dresses, some in the more old-fashioned longer skirts, some towing children or lugging sacks of groceries or nothing at all, destinations unknown. Newcomers to the city, slack-jawed in amazement as they goggle upwards at the skyscrapers, something never seen anywhere before. All races, all classes, all kinds: it's all here, in this huge, noisy, dirty, wonderful city.

I love to watch, to see everything flow by me, the hours rushing by, while I sit untouched by time.

The roads are horrible here, far too narrow now for all the traffic. Since Mr. Ford popularized his inexpensive assembly-line-built motor-cars a few years ago, New Yorkers, always on the cusp of the fashion trends, had bought more than a half-million automobiles, more than Paris or London, more than anywhere else in the world. The narrow streets of what used to be New Amsterdam were now clogged with backed-up cars, horse-drawn carts driven by frustrated men, bicycle messengers, and even brave pedestrians, dancing through the hodgepodge of obstacles.

Sidewalks werere slowly being added, roads slowly being widened as old buildings were torn down to make room for the soaring skyscrapers that now were beginning to clutter the skyline, but it was not fast enough for anyone's tastes. But then again, New Yorkers aren't known for their patience.

I liked to sit in a little café I'd discovered a while back, when I first came to the city. Not that I eat, but it's something that humans do: to sit at a table in a diner and order a cup of coffee and watch the passersby.

I never drank the coffee, though; I chose my favorite table wisely, next to both the wide front window and the potted plant, in the corner so I can see everything, outside and in. When I knew no one was looking I managed to pour the coffee into the plant, and no one was the wiser. It's so easy to get away with it's not even a challenge. I could probably even do it when someone was looking and still not get caught; I'm too fast for their weak eyes to catch.

What _is_ a challenge is sitting among so many humans.

Although I loved to watch them, to listen to them, to see the stories of their brief, frantic lives flicker around them as they pass, it hurt me to be there, in the midst of them. It burns so, like an open flame blazing down my throat, to smell them, to smell their blood.

It makes me thirsty.

That's why I had to do it, though. I sat there in the middle of a river of humanity and suffered from thirst. _I must learn to control myself_, I told myself, to be master over this thirst, so it doesn't become _my_ master. _If that happens, everything I have built for myself, everything I have striven to do, collapses, and I become the monster I've refused to allow myself to be._

_And if I'm the monster, I won't find Jasper._

_I know he's out there somewhere. I know I'll find him, and he'll find me. _

I woke from the burning darkness knowing nothing else but that, knowing that I _should_ know more, but that I didn't. I knew somehow that I had to be careful, not to let the overwhelming newborn bloodlust in me twist me into something that I can't live with, that _he_ can't live with.

It'd been nine years since I became…who I am now. I'd fled Missouri and wandered aimlessly for a while, struggling with the thirst, killing in the darkness when I couldn't stand it anymore, and afterward feeling hideously guilty for what I'd done. I'd eventually gained some measure of control over myself, though the thirst itself never went away, only died down to a dull roar I could ignore.

_I hate killing humans. I know I was one, once: a human. I don't remember what it was like. I don't know how I changed from that to what I am now, but I still love humans, even though they are now technically my…prey. __**People**__. _

I saw their lives flash before me, I saw their good choices and bad, I saw their failures and successes and joys and sorrows, so much crammed into such a fleeting span of years. I hated taking those pictures, those futures, away from people when I had to give in to my thirst. I always felt like there is a void left where that future should have been, and that I somehow had disrupted the pattern of the lives of others through my killing.

"More coffee, miss?"

The waitress's voice jarred me from my reverie, even though I knew she was coming. I'd known it before she even crossed the room, coffeepot in hand. I saw a brief flicker of a picture as she made her decision to check on me.

She was a sweet girl, young, poor. She had a well-scrubbed honest face, but threadbare clothes and cheap shoes. She worked hard. Her feet hurt. But, it was better for her to have a job like this than working on the streets down in the red-light district. I saw _that_ choice ahead in her future, and it made me sad.

I smiled brightly up at her, taking care to keep the brim of my hat shadowing my eyes. I had fed a few days ago, and my eyes were still quite bright. Bright red, that is.

"No thanks, Carolyn, I'm all done!" I covered the empty cup with my hand, just in case she tried to pour more in anyway. She'd been serving my coffee ever since I'd started coming to the diner about four years ago, nearly every day. I always left her a good tip, which made her puppyishly eager to give me excellent service. What that translated into is frequent unwanted coffee refills.

She smiled back, placing the bill on the table for me. Half a dollar, fifty cents.

I handed her a five note and closed her hand around it, forcing her to take it. She shivered from the touch of my cold hands: I mentally cursed myself for forgetting my gloves. "No change, ok?" I emphasized. She flushed pink, sputtered a little, eyes welling up a little. I knew she was really, truly grateful.

_Poor girl. _

Something bad was coming, coming soon; I'd been getting those feelings and pictures for quite some time by then, strengthening daily. I felt it, saw flickers of it, all around the city, over the heads of the people, especially those businessmen with their briefcases and self-important airs. Something to do with money. It would bring this proud city, this country, the whole world, even, to its knees. Soon.

In fact, it was already upon us; something had happened last week, on Thursday and Friday, and again yesterday, Monday, October 29, 1929…and it was building. The stock markets around the world had begun first fluctuating wildly the week before, and then began bottoming out yesterday, indicating that people were fearful of leaving their money with the companies they were investing in, and were trying to sell off their shares to bail out. This would cause companies to fail, causing people to lose their jobs. Many, many people were running to the banks, to pull out their money, in case the banks failed and took their hard-earned savings with it—and this would cause the banks to collapse, as they wouldn't have anything to keep maintaining themselves once everyone had withdrawn their money.

Yesterday had been disastrous; the papers this morning proclaimed it "Black Monday." It was still early, today was Tuesday, the 30th of October. I knew it would be known as "Black Tuesday," and would be the beginning of a long, dark time for the human world.

I'd actually taken to dabbling it that kind of thing a bit, playing the markets; I had various ways of acquiring money, not all savory, but even _I_ needed money occasionally, to avoid looking like a complete vagabond. So I'd managed to gather together a good chunk of cash and begun investing it in companies and futures that seemed promising.

I'd been making a nice little living from that dabbling: after all, when you can see the future, it helps predict when certain stocks will rise and fall in value, and which markets are most fruitful, and so on. I'd been honing my skills with both my visions and in my basic ability at speculation in the whole thing. It had been fun. I'd been able to start living well by human standards, renting a lovely little studio near the park, buying lovely clothes and shoes, sponsoring local dance companies and artists…it was a very enjoyable existence.

However, I'd moved most of my money off the actual stock market and into gold a few months before, due to my premonitions. I knew that whatever was coming would have wiped out my nest egg, if I left it on the market, or even in one of the human banks, many of which would fail very soon.

People were already realizing it, even with their dull senses: those businessmen had gone from looking self-assured and confident to looking terrified, ducking their heads and hurrying along as if fighting through a cold wind even on a sunny day.

I glanced up at Carolyn; her attention was diverted for a moment, staring down at the bill in her hand. I saw it very clearly, a flash as vivid as real life: this girl would lose her job soon, when the diner owner couldn't afford to pay his bills and close the restaurant. Her mother was ill and her father wasn't around, so Carolyn would lose her only source of income, the only source of income for her family. So would many, many other people. And then she would have to make _that decision_, whether to do things her mother had told her she must never do, to avoid starving to death.

I tried not to see what choice she would make. It might change, anyway; besides, I can't judge them for their decisions. I'm not them. Not one of them anymore.

Carolyn stumbled away, eyes wide in shock. A four-dollar-and-fifty-cents tip would pay for her to eat for a few days. It would buy the shoes her little sister needed. She wouldn't buy herself any, even though her feet ached so badly in the night she could barely sleep. I saw the decisions flash around her. It made me even sadder. Perhaps I should stop by her home late in the night, leave her more money. The prospect brightened my outlook considerably: how startled Carolyn would be, waking in the morning to find a brand new pair of shoes stuffed with money on her bedside table. How fun! I glanced over at her feet, decided what size would fit her, and started planning my purchase. Maybe I wouldn't stop with shoes…

I gathered up my little purse and shrugged into my coat, slipped out the front door into the heavy foot traffic outside. The noise and the smell and the motion was dizzying at first; I saw every detail, every thread on every coat, heard every breath and heartbeat, smelled their breath and hair cream and skin and blood…

The thirst roared at me. It never went away.

I swallowed convulsively against the venom welling up in my mouth and pulled my coat tighter about me, even though I wasn't cold. It was chilly outside, October in New York, with a good stiff breeze, but I didn't feel cold anymore. I wore the coat and hat because everyone else did. To go out dressed like it was summertime would attract too much attention.

Besides, I liked clothes.

The fashions of these past nine years had been fun. I'd enjoyed watching the hemlines rise, loved the new details that the daring new designers like Chanel and Poirot brought to clothes. No more long dresses and sleeves and big feathery hats, thank god! I'd been no Gibson Girl of the 1910's, all roses and cream and flouncy laces—I was, and always would be, a skinny little waif with short, spiky hair, the antithesis of the previous decade's visions of feminine beauty.

Human women began to gain more independence as that decade had passed, especially after they gained the right to vote in the year that I had awakened, which I had realized was 1920, and had expressed that newfound independence in many ways: their hair got shorter like the skirts, women started wearing makeup and being more free-spirited, riding in cars with men and dancing at all hours of the night…

New York was the center of it all. There was always something to do, something to see, something to listen to.

I had enjoyed becoming a flapper girl, I'd fit in well with that crowd. My hair was already short, since it had never grown any longer than it was the day I'd woken up, and it looked darling with a cloche hat pulled down snugly over it. My height and build was perfect for the short skirts and dresses that were all the rage…and heavens knows, since the current trend dictated a small bosom, I was right in line with that!

Beaded and fringed and sparkling, I'd danced in the smoky speakeasies without ever attracting the slightest attention for being anything but one of them...although I was always the best dancer.

I loved dancing.

Of course, in human circles I couldn't dance with all my capabilities. I had to limit my speed, my flexibility, everything, to not betray my _otherness_. I'd won a few dance contests, there were a dozen of them all over town on any given night, but I hadn't allowed myself any more wins than that, or it would have made people too aware of me. And I couldn't afford that. Getting too close, too involved, with the humans around me was dangerous. For them and for me.

Still, it was fun, haunting the nights with a totally innocent purpose for once. I would join the large crowds of raucous young men and women that thronged my favorite spots to dance and listen to music, but never the same ones as before, careful not to become more than an anonymous part of the bigger group.

Jazz was all the rage. I adored it. Sometimes I would head down into Harlem to listen to the singers wail and trumpet players blare and pianists pound the keys in a frenzy, pouring their passion from their instruments and themselves with such utter abandon. I loved Louis Armstrong and Bessie Smith. I could sit and listen to them for hours, carried away by the music.

I wished I could be that free. But it was more complicated than it seemed.

In my early wanderings, I had been completely free, unfettered, owing nothing to no one…but I had been so terribly lonely. The solitude and the guilt of my feedings had forced me back to civilization. I had chosen the biggest human city I could find, thinking that I could hide among its masses, blend in, and when I _had_ to feed, perhaps it wouldn't be noticed so easily. The tactic worked, but with a price: now, I was surrounded by them, by the smell of them and their blood, and it made it agonizing.

I knew I couldn't make _friends_ with anyone, it would be too difficult for me and too dangerous to them: I could only form the very shallowest of relationships with people, like with Carolyn the waitress. It helped ease the loneliness, at least. It wasn't a perfect life, but it was good enough. I dealt with the thirst. It was worth the price, I realized, to be among people again, to feel almost _alive_.

Because I didn't feel alive.

Perhaps it was, again, because I had no basis for comparison. I had no memories of my life before I had awakened. I knew I had to have had a life, before. I hadn't just spontaneously appeared in the room in the basement of that burning building, fully-grown, from nothing. That was ridiculous. So, I had had a life before, but I had no idea what it had been like, or how I'd come to change from human into what I had become.

I looked, for the most part, like the humans around me, at least at first glance, but it wasn't hard to figure out that I wasn't one of them, if a close enough look was taken. My skin was hard and glittering, my eyes were red, I never aged, I was extremely strong and fast, my senses sharp and my reactions instantaneous. Not human at all.

Something had happened to change me. _But what?_ What had caused the burning, the blackness, what had wiped away my past, and made me _this_?

I wended my way through the crowd of people clogging the sidewalk, heading for a shoe store near Park and Spruce Avenues that I'd been to several times. Even with my head down to keep the weak sunlight off my face, I was aware of everything going on around me, watchful, careful, though no one would have known it. It was something bone-deep in me, this instinct for self-preservation. I felt like I must always be on my guard, looking for threats, for danger, although I knew I was practically indestructible. Who should be on my guard against?

_Others like me?_

In all my wanderings, I had never yet seen another like me. There _had_ to be others, though, it made no sense for me to be the only one like this. I knew they had to be out there, those others, but I had no idea where, and I was a bit afraid to seek them out. I knew that if I decided to look for them I would find them, given my ability to see things in the future—but I couldn't be sure of their welcome for me, if I did find them. So I didn't try.

The only ones I did want to find were the family I had seen in my vision, the day I had awakened. I had no idea how they were able to not drink human blood, why their eyes were different than mine. I knew I would find them one day, and they'd teach me what to do, how to change.

And I had to wait for Jasper, of course.

I felt his existence drawing me like a magnet, but I also had a vague feeling of wrongness, that the time wasn't _quite right_…that I shouldn't actively seek him for a while, as if something else needed to take place before it was wise to try. Perhaps he needed to do some things, experience something, learn something. Things that he had to do before he met me, before we met the other members of our family-to-be. Perhaps whatever the reason was would make it perfect for us when it _was_ time. I kept tabs on him through my visions, making sure I never lost him. He was wandering, lonely as a cloud…seeking me, too. It would happen, soon, but not soon enough for me!

You see, I'm a big believer in Fate. I'm lucky enough to be able to peek over her shoulder, get a glimpse of what She has in store. We're good friends, Fate and I. She confides in me sometimes.

I smiled a little, pulled my hat down a bit tighter. My turn was coming soon, the corner I'd need to make to get to the shoe store.

Suddenly, I was overwhelmed with a vision. No, this was more than a vision. It was more real than _real_.

I reflexively shut my eyes, blocking everything out, even though I was in the middle of a swarm of people, all moving at various speeds in different directions. They broke around me like a river breaking around a stone, some cursing me in annoyance.

Someone was watching me. _Someone…like me_.

And they were very close by. _Right now_.

I managed to finally free myself of the vision and opened my eyes, glancing around for somewhere to go, to think in peace. I knew I had to get away from the throngs of people on Exchange Street and duck onto a side road. It was better to be out of that bustling, noisy…tasty-smelling…flood of people. I had to be free of them, to decide what to do.

I saw an alley on my right, between the National City Bank and The Merchants Exchange Bank, and headed toward it.

In the shadows of the bank, I relaxed a bit, and stopped to consider what I'd seen, to try to understand it, make some sense of it.

In my mind's eye I saw red eyes. Like mine. But darker. I saw a mocking smile. I felt danger. I smelled a sweet smell I'd never smelled before, but that still felt as familiar as my own.

Because the scent was almost exactly like my own! Where was…he? No, not just one…a few of them! But not all of them were…dangerous…A big choice was coming for me. Huge. Monumental. But…how??

I leaned back against the brick wall of the National City Bank, closing my eyes for a moment to try to gain control. My throat was on fire with the smell of all the blood coursing through all those veins so nearby…And I was so frightened by what I had seen. I had to be careful, I didn't know when--

"Are you all right, miss?"

The voice shocked me. I hadn't heard anyone there, and that's something not often done, to take me by surprise. My eyes flew open, seeking the voice, my body rigid as a stone in reaction to my stress.

He stood about twenty feet away, standing perfectly still, almost completely in the shadow of the fire escape. One hand was extended toward me, as if was trying to reassure me, to not startle me. As if he knew he _would_ frighten me. He was dressed in perfectly normal clothes, a brown fitted suit coat and slacks of excellent, expensive fabric, shiny black patent-leather wingtip shoes peeping from beneath the well-tailored cuffs. He wore a stylish beige fedora hat with a black silk band, pulled down slightly in the front so it shadowed his brow well, almost entirely hiding his eyes. A darker mohair overcoat was slung casually over his other arm. A perfectly normal person, a prosperous businessman?

But he was like _me_. I knew it right away. My vision had come, and I wasn't ready.

Although it was a very overcast morning, I could see his skin glimmer faintly, like mine. He was extraordinarily pale, like me, too, although his skin had a strange olive pallor, as if his skin tone had originally been darker, before…changing…into whatever I—_we_!—were. The angles of his face were smooth, perfect, as if chiseled from marble. He had a pair of kid gloves stuck into the left pocket of his jacket. My gloves were in mine as well; I'd forgotten to put them on in the café. It unnerved most humans to be touched by me, since my skin is so cold. I imagined he had the same predicament.

The wind shifted, kicking a stiff breeze into my face from behind him, and I was assailed with a sweet scent I had never smelled before, except from myself, the same smell as in my vision a few moments before. His scent was different from mine, more masculine, somehow, but the undertone was the same as mine, the same as the venom that welled in my mouth when I thirsted.

He smiled slightly, one eyebrow arching in question. He was quite beautiful, his dark hair brushing the top of his white collar; the length wasn't really fashionable, but it suited him, somehow, and didn't detract from the impact of his well-cut suit and cravat. I knew that his eyes were red, like mine, beneath the brim of that fedora. His teeth glittered as the grin widened.

"Well, beautiful, are you all right, or should I call someone for you, to come help?" Although the tone was slightly mocking, his voice was musical. Like I knew mine was. "You look a bit, hmmm, overwhelmed?" He dropped his outstretched hand as if he knew I wouldn't take it.

I bit my lower lip in consternation, not knowing what to do. I was deeply afraid of this person, but at the same time I felt drawn toward him, if only because I had finally found someone else like me, here, in the flesh. Not from my visions of the future, but solidly real, standing before me. But there was also something else, something vague, that drew me to him…

I made my decision in a flash.

"No, no, that's okay, sir," I managed, somehow sounding breathless, even though I didn't need to breath. "I was a little…overwhelmed, yes, but I think I'll be fine. Thank you."

He took a slow step forward, as if trying not to frighten me. I was glad for the caution. I felt as skittish as a hare, every nerve ending in my body vibrating in tension, waiting for the potential conflict that I knew could be coming. _Dangerous!_ my instincts shrieked.

"Well, darling, don't worry about me, I won't bite. Not you, at least!" His laughter was like bells, but deep, manly. He came closer still, coming out of the shadow of the fire escape, a shaft of weak sunlight striking him, setting his skin ablaze with diamond-like shimmers. He was lovely.

What an odd tableau we made, standing there in the alley next to the bank, staring at each other, both still as statues.

Suddenly, he seemed to become aware of the sunlight striking him, and pulled back, as if afraid of it. But he beckoned to me, motioning for me to come closer to him. His head swiveled back and forth as he scanned both ends of the alley, making sure no one had seen us.

"Come now, come out of the sun, before you get us both in trouble, girl!" he commanded me.

_**Trouble?**__ From who?_

But for some reason I did as he told me, no matter how much my instincts screamed at me to stop. Compelled, I followed him as he retreated deeper and deeper into the shadows, until we were so far from the street I could barely hear the traffic on Exchange Street anymore.

Finally the stranger stopped and turned back to me, seeming more at ease.

"So, beautiful, what're you doing here?" he asked casually. "Are you alone?"

It struck me that his question could be a dangerous one: was he trying to see if I had anyone to protect me, to help me, if something happened?

But I still answered. Again, _why? Why do I owe him an answer?_

"Yes, I'm alone, and I've been here for about five years." It was as if the words were being pulled from me.

Surprise flickered across his stunning face. "Five years? In one place?" His tone was disbelieving, then became authoritative. "You shouldn't do that, doll. It's dangerous. You need to keep moving, if you're going to keep them from figuring you out."

I was confused. "Dangerous, how?"

He stared at me blankly for a moment, as if he couldn't comprehend my question, as if I was a complete moron for even asking. He recovered quickly.

"Well, first of all, baby, you have to keep a low profile, you know? Rules are rules." He sounded like he was trying to explain something to a child.

I felt a bit insulted. Irritated. I didn't like being spoken to like that. I also didn't like his way of speaking, like he was imitating the mannerisms of the humans with his slang and attitude. It didn't sit well on him, like an ill-fitting coat.

I put my hands on my hips, lifting my chin defiantly. "Look, whoever you are, I have no idea what rules you're talking about. No one has ever told me anything." I stabbed an accusatory finger at him. "You're the first of…our kind, whatever we are, I've ever met! And you show up here, in an alley, scaring me to death, talking about rules and telling me what to do? Who the hell are you?"

He was shocked by my attitude, eyes wide in disbelief. It was like no one had ever talked back to him before!

Then he was right in front of me, so close I could feel his breath against my face, but it wasn't a pleasant intimacy. I felt violated, intimidated by his invasion of my space. I'm sure it was how he intended me to feel. I felt my body tense in ready response, as if I would spring at him. A low hiss came from between my clenched teeth, to my surprise. He glared down at me; it was a long way down. I was a great deal shorter than him. I must have looked like a child before him.

"Look, girl, whoever you are, it doesn't matter if anyone ever told you anything. Rules are rules. Keep away from the cattle. Keep the secret. That's it, period." He made a slashing motion with one hand, as if what he had said were the last word.

I felt that odd compulsion again.

It struck me, then: _he_ was doing that. _Compelling me_. It was like he was…pushing me, mentally. Trying to make me do what he wanted me to do. He _wanted me_ to obey the rules, so _I _wanted to obey the rules, no matter how angry and frightened I was of him, or how much I resented his imperious demeanor.

I nodded quickly in assent. I'd do what he said. _Ugh_. I hated the idea.

He backed away again, but not as far this time, and seemed to relax a little. A small smile returned to his lips, curving up the corners slightly. He straightened his hat, and I could see his eyes now, a deep burgundy, several shades darker than my own. What did that mean?

As if he had not just threatened me implicitly moments before, he stuck out his hand. "And my name is Corin, by the way, dollface. Come on, let's start again, shall we?"

I shook his hand woodenly. He wanted me to.

"Don't call me that," I managed, realizing how much his nicknames were adding to my irritation with him. "My name isn't 'dollface'. It's Alice."

He seemed to taste my name, as if trying it out on his tongue. "Alice, hmm?" He let my hand go, a moment too slowly for my comfort, his fingertips lingering on the inside of my wrist, caressing my fingers as his slid away. I pulled my hand back and hid it in my pocket, resisting the urge to wipe it against the inside of the jacket and remove any traces of him from my skin. I didn't like him touching me.

Corin looked at me for a long moment, speculating. "How old are you, Alice?" he asked quietly, tilting his head a bit to look at my eyes. I ducked my head, self-conscious.

"I don't really know," I finally replied. And I didn't.

He shook his head slowly, as if not understanding me. "I don't mean how old you are in human years, Alice. I mean, how long have you been immortal?" He sounded more patient this time, as if something made sense to him now that hadn't before.

_Immortal?_

I thought for a moment. I knew I hadn't aged a day in the past nine years, but hadn't really considered the long-term implications of that. "I'm not really sure what you mean."

Was that what I was, _immortal_? Immortal _what?_

Corin sighed, pushing his hands into his jacket pockets, seeming frustrated. "Kid, do you even know _anything_?"

He reached out and took my free hand, tucking it through his arm, turning us together to face down the alley again, away from Exchange Street. I allowed him to do that, still confused, even though everything in me cried out in disgust at being handled like that.

A flicker in my mind whispered that I would be all right if I went with him. I should, in fact. It would bring me to the decision I would have to make. It made me feel a bit better about allowing him to touch me, doing what he told me to do.

"Come on, kid, we have a lot to talk about," he said, and off we went, into the deeper shadows.

A few hours later, in the well-appointed suite at the Ritz-Carlton that had Corin called "home away from home", we were still talking. No light crept in through the thick drapes that were drawn completely across the windows, and no lights were on, but we saw each other perfectly with our ultra-sensitive eyes.

Well, he was mainly talking. I sat, for the most part, listening in rapt absorption as he told me all about himself. About _us_.

I had told him about what I remembered, of waking up from the agonizing dark hell in the basement of the burning building. I told him how I remembered absolutely nothing before that. I did _not_ tell him about my visions, about Jasper, or the golden-eyed family I knew I would find someday. Caution held my tongue. Also, those things were private, far too intimate to share with this person I'd just met and knew nothing about. And didn't _like_ much at all, either.

Corin sat and listened to me quietly, his expression never changing, eyes focused intently on me. When I had finished telling him my brief tale, he nodded slowly, as if he had already known what I would say.

"So, you're saying you have never met another of us, then?"

I rolled my eyes. "Yes, that's what I'm saying." What a thing to ask, when I had just spoken those same words a few minutes before!

"And you know nothing of your maker, then, correct?"

Again, I rolled my eyes, nodded assent.

He stroked his chin thoughtfully, finally releasing my eyes from his gaze, and stood up. He paced a bit, up and down the length of the Persian rug that lay on the suite's sitting room floor, seeming lost in thought.

Finally, he turned, and began to tell me things.

"Alice, we have been around for as long as anyone can remember. Alongside the humans, but not like them. Of course, we all once _were_ humans, at some point, we don't know where that first transformation happened, perhaps a million years ago, or when, or why. We just always have been here. That's all even the very oldest of us know.

"I'm not terribly old as we go. I'm a bit shy of a thousand years old. I was born in what is now called Ireland, in the year 944 AD. My family was dirt-poor Celtic peat farmers. We were called Black Irish, because we were darker than many of the others. We raised some sheep, managed to make end meet, barely. I never had shoes. I never went to school. We only went to Mass, and the priests told us about Heaven and Hell, and how we'd only escape Hell by doing what we were told. It made sense to me."

His eyes took on a faraway look, as if he wasn't seeing me anymore. His voice changed, too, as he spoke, lost the contrived modern phrases and hardness, softened, the vowels and consonants rounding and stretching, the words slurring together and clipped off in odd places, an accent I had heard traces of in the Irish immigrants that thronged the city. The ill-fitting coat of his contrived mannerisms slipped away, and the real person beneath felt right to me. I liked him just a bit more.

"When I was about sixteen, I was apprenticed to a farrier, the kind of blacksmith that repairs horseshoes and such. It was a good trade, I suppose; there would always be work, and you could cultivate a good clientele, even work for the local nobles if you were good at your work and gained a good reputation. I was a big lad, strong, good with my hands. And the horses always listened to me when I told them to be still, to lift their feet. Hell, almost anyone would do as I told them, come to think of it. Not just horses, people too."

He smiled wryly, a million miles, a thousand years away, then continued.

"After a year or so of being an apprentice, my master received a commission to work on the estate of the Earl of County Cork, about twenty miles from our home. The Earl was English, and a great fanatic of the horses, and had heard my master was the best in the county, and wanted him on his personal staff." Corin chuckled. "So, we went. I packed up my few things, and we set off, down the road to the Earl's Estate.

"It was late in the afternoon, but my master had a cousin who lived about midway between home and our destination, so he figured we could stop there, stay the night, and set out again the next morning." He stopped, his face hardening in the grip of some unpleasant memory. His eyes cut to me, held me. "We should have not gone so late, Alice. We should have stayed home til the next morning."

I raised my eyebrows in surprise at his harsh tone.

"It was well after sunset, but we still had three miles more to go, so my master said, 'C'mon, lad, let's get on, not much further, and it's a soft bed and good stew for our bellies!'" Corin grunted derisively. "We'd just come around a tight bend in the road, and suddenly our horses spooked, like they'd stepped on a snake, though we saw naught.

"Then… it all happened so quickly I didn't understand what was going on.

"My horse reared, threw me clear of the road, and took off back the way we'd come, screaming like it was being flayed alive. My master's horse reared, too, but came too far back, and fell over, crushing my master beneath it. He'd gotten his foot tangled in the stirrup and couldn't jump clear."

He stopped his pacing beside the cold, empty fireplace, resting one hand on the smooth granite of the mantle. His eyes found the corner of the room, fixed there, seeing his memories but nothing else, his expression sad.

"I remember hearing my master scream, hearing his horse scream; I was trying to get up off the ground and go help, but when I'd hit the ground I'd landed on my back, and got all the wind knocked out of me. When I finally managed to get to my feet, my master's screaming…changed. And I stopped in the bushes beside the road, trying to see, because those screams were…not right. Not like he was hurt. Like he was terrified. A big, strong ox of a man, terrified, shrieking like a little girl in the dark. Then, I heard something else, something like a snake hissing, or a lion growling, although I'd never heard either thing before. In Ireland there were no snakes or lions. But I knew what they were _supposed_ to sound like."

I clenched my fingers together tensely, enthralled by his voice, by the story. I could almost see it.

"I leaned forward and peeped through the bracken, trying to see what was going on, my blood running cold as I listened to those growlings, those hisses, the screams of my master, which had started dying down, and then went away altogether, died into gurgles like he was drowning…then nothing at all.

"It was a dark night, the moon was covered by clouds, so it was almost impossible to see anything. But then, like magic, the moon burst out of the clouds, and I saw what had happened.

"I saw my master, still lying beneath the horse, but he was perfectly still. I saw blood, everywhere, gleaming in the moonlight. And I saw someone crouching next to my master's body, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. It was just his silhouette, too dark to see any details, until he straightened, and the moon hit him full in the face.

"I saw how pale he was, how…handsome, how strong, and I saw how his skin looked…strange. Opaque, but shimmery in the moonlight. I knew, somehow, that he wasn't human. He just stood too still, was too perfect.

"I didn't think he could see me, but he turned and looked directly at me, where I crouched in the bracken bushes. I saw his eyes shine in the moon—they looked red. I was very, very afraid, even though I was technically a man grown, almost ready to set out on his own. I'm not ashamed of having been afraid of him, Alice." Corin turned his head, looking at me again, his face sober. "It was the wise thing to do, to be afraid."

He shoved his hands into his pockets, leaning back against the fireplace.

"As I said, I was frightened. I wanted to run, to hide somewhere else, but I knew he would catch me. I knew he would have no trouble with that, no matter how fast I could run, even if I caught my horse.

"Then he was there before me, pulling me out of the bushes, but I hadn't even seen him move. He was so strong, so very strong, his hands crushed my upper arms, and they were so cold…I knew I was going to die, I didn't care that the thornbushes scraped me, all I cared about was that I was going to die, and I didn't want to.

"He pulled me free of the bracken and threw me down on the ground, near my master, then was on me again, so fast, I never saw him move. He growled like a lion, and opened his mouth, and I knew he was going to rip out my throat like a rabid dog. I lost all shame in that moment, Alice, I have to tell you, I started blubbering like a baby, and I begged him to not kill me, over and over again.

"And for some reason, he stopped, looking confused. He let me go, I fell back into the dust, sobbing with relief. I knew I wasn't going to die.

"The creature spoke, and his voice was so different, I'd never heard anything like it, except perhaps the churchbells calling us to Mass on Sundays. He asked me how I'd done it.

"'Done what, sir?' I asked him, stammering like an idiot.

"He stared at me, and I couldn't tell what he was thinking. Then he reached down again, and I near wet myself, thinking he was going to kill me anyway. But he just put me on my feet, then slung me up over his shoulder like a sack of grain, even though I was a good-sized lad, good muscles from working the forge bellows and swinging the hammer.

"Then, we were flying. Or so it seemed.

"We moved so fast my eyes watered, and I got dizzy. I had no idea what was coming. I knew he was running, but it was faster than any horse could ever go, faster than any bird, even. I was faint with fear still, and dread, not knowing what he was going to do with me."

Corin pursed his lips in a small, ironic smile, then went on.

"After a few minutes we stopped, and he slung me down again with no kindness. I fell onto the ground and stayed where I was, paralyzed with fear.

"A few moments later, I heard another voice. This time it was a woman's, and it was beautiful Then I saw her, the one who spoke. She was standing a few feet from me, next to the man who had brought me. Or, whatever he was, I thought.

"The woman was huge, tall, built heavily like a man, but somehow she was even more beautiful than her voice. Regal. Like a queen, even though I'd never seen one before. She had the same pale, pale skin and eyes like the man. She looked at me with great curiosity, as if I were some kind of oddity.

"'So, bairn, what might you be?' she asked me, then turned to the man without waiting for an answer. 'Well, Liam, what have you brought me here, then? A toy?'

"The man, Liam, laughed very quietly, and he reached out to touch the woman's hair, and I realized they were…together. Then he spoke, telling her how he'd killed my companion and had been intending to make off with me, too, til I begged him to not kill me…and he hadn't. Liam didn't know _why_ he'd stopped, but he felt as if he _should_ stop, so he did.

"Then the woman looked at me again with renewed interest, and she smiled. 'So, my boyo, you can make even a hungry immortal stop in his tracks when he has the bloodlust, eh?'"

Corin tapped the shoe of his toe on the glossy marble floor, face deep in memory again.

"I didn't know what to tell her, but I knew if I had any chance of living a moment more I had to say something. So I told her, stuttering nearly every word, how I could calm down the horses and make them obey, how I could make people do what I wanted."

Corin laughed suddenly, looking a bit rueful. "I'd always thought the girls just thought me handsome, that's why they were so willing. And I'd just thought I was good with words, to always be able to convince men to do what I wished, to get what I wanted. My life had been pretty easy, for the youngest son of a poor farmer. But it wasn't because I was handsome, or charming, it turns out, although I still flatter myself to think I had a bit of both in the raw state."

I giggled. I couldn't help it. He grinned at me suggestively; I ducked my head in embarrassment, looking away until he started speaking again.

"The huge woman peered down at me, very intense, like she was searching me for something. 'So, you can compel others to do your bidding, eh?' She seemed to chew on that idea, mulling something over in her head for a moment, before clapping her hands together suddenly and grinning.

"'Well, we've been looking to add on to the coven, ay my love?' she said to Liam. The man seemed upset by her suggestion to…add on to the coven. I had no idea what that meant. He looked at me resentfully. I realized then, he was terribly jealous of his woman, didn't want to share her attention with anyone.

"The woman seemed to realize what was going on, and she reached out and took his hands and kissed them. 'Ach, my love, no one would ever replace you in my heart. But we could use another set of eyes and ears, my pet, and someone with his gift…Think about it, Liam, if it's this strong as a human, this compulsion of his, think of how it might be as one of _us_!' The idea seemed to thrill her. 'Think of how easy it'll be, to hunt with someone like this to help us! To be able to get the money we need, he can just _tell_ them to give it to us, easy as that!' She laughed.

"Liam frowned, shooting a bitter glance my way. I tried to shrink down into the dirt, be as invisible as possible. I remembered how he'd slashed my master's throat, growling like a beast. My master's blood was still on Liam's tunic.

"'Aye, then, Siobhan, ye know I kin never go 'gainst ye,' he finally said, sighing. Siobhan clapped her hands again happily, like a girl, and she kissed him. That seemed to make him happy.

"Then she turned to me again, measuring me with her eyes again.

"'Well, me bucko, then ye'd best prepare for this. You're goin' ta be one of us now. Understand?'

"I didn't. Not at all. How could I be like them?"

Corin paused, sighed. Looked pained by something he was remembering.

"I don't like talking about the turning. It was like nothing I'd ever even considered before, that kind of pain. Worse than any imaginings of hell the priests had ever been able to conjure up. I wished for death. But it never came. I screamed. It didn't help. I burned and burned and burned, til I was sure there was nothing left of me.

"I burned for a bit more than three days, they tell me. And when I woke from the pain, I had to struggle to remember my human life, because it was hazy, whereas my new eyes and brain were so much clearer and _real_. I spent a great deal of time making myself remember my old life, so I didn't lose myself."

I had to interrupt him. "But how were you…turned? That's what I don't understand!" I shouted, not wanting him to continue until I knew. He shook his head sadly.

"They bit me, Alice. They bit me, but not to tear my heart out, or to drink my blood. Mainly Siobhan, because Liam said he couldn't handle more than one or two times. Their teeth, _our_ teeth, are wicked sharp, and our mouths full of a venom which will eventually poison the entire human system, remaking it, transforming it into…this." He held up his arm, the cuff of his jacket sleeve falling back to show his white wrist. It glimmered a bit in the dimness.

I knew what he said was true. I had known for a while that the sweet liquid that welled in my mouth when I thirsted and fed was poisonous. A few times I had taken someone to feed and had stopped, guilt-ridden, although it was almost impossible to stop. After a few moments, the people had begun to scream, begging me to kill them. And I had. It had been too simple, then, to overcome my remorse, when they begged me to slake my thirst with their lives.

I shuddered. _Monster._

Corin went on.

"Siobhan was right: I did have a very potent ability, which became even more potent after being changed, becoming one of them. I could make almost anyone do anything I wanted them to. If they can hear me, they obey." His mouth twisted in a sneer. "It makes things far too easy, but I suppose it's better than not having _any_ skills other than the ones which are standard with our current forms, eh?

"I stayed with Siobhan and Liam for about a hundred years. Although I grew very close to Siobhan, felt for her as if she was my mother, Liam never truly warmed to me. He valued me, valued what I brought to their little group, how it made things easier for them, but he never liked or truly trusted me.

"After a while, though, I felt the urge to leave. I was tired of Liam's resentment, tired of being limited to such a small area, of having to be so very cautious when we fed. Ireland is small, you see, and the only rule that Siobhan told me I must never violate is to avoid discovery. Hunt at night, when humans can't see how different we are. Only hunt circumspectly, don't be flamboyant about it. Hide the evidence. Don't get involved in human affairs, unless it's absolutely necessary.

"I asked her why, since we were so much stronger, faster, _better_, than the humans. We could easily rule them, you know." He shot a look in my direction, and I realized he'd intended that last comment directly for me. Then he continued, eyes growing distant again. "She never really answered me, just told me to obey her, that it was best. So I did, til I decided it was time to go out on my own.

"Siobhan begged me not to leave. If she could have wept, she would have. She told me I was like her son, the son she'd never been able to have, that it might kill her for me to leave. But I was determined, and I knew she was indestructible, anyway. I wanted to see the world, to explore. I was totally confident I could handle anything that came against me, and I really could. After all, I possessed super-human physical and mental abilities, I was immortal, indestructible, and I had my compulsion gift.

"So, after much drama, I managed to break free of Siobhan, and I struck out into the world on my own.

"I drifted for many, many years, all over Europe. This continent had only been discovered by the Vikings, and would have held no interest to me, anyway.

"Finally, in about the human year 1350, I was in Italy, in Tuscany, when I came across the scent of another of our kind. It had been a long time, I was beginning to wonder if we were a dying breed, or if I was being avoided by the others for some reason.

"I'd been alone for a while, and was actually starting to want some companionship. So I followed the scent." Corin stopped again and smiled at me, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

"I began following the scent trail, and before long I realized that it wasn't just one of us that I'd been following, but several. The paths came from all over the region and converged in a single point, the road leading up the hill to a city, a beautiful walled castle city, called Volterra.

"I hid along the side of the road until dark came, and then I crept up to the city gates. It wasn't hard to get inside the walls. Once I was in the town itself, the scent of our kind was _everywhere._ The townspeople were all indoors, the streets practically deserted except for the occasional watchmen with their torches and halberds, patrolling. I got the feeling that the city was very well-controlled. It was deathly quiet there, the only noises the dripping of water in the gutters, the wind, and the muffled sounds from inside the houses, which were all shuttered tightly against the night.

"I made my way through the streets and eventually came upon the town square, which has a magnificent clock tower. It was shortly before ten o'clock; I haunted around the square for a bit, tracing the scent trails as they ran to and fro through the area, and was nearly startled out of my skin when the clock tolled the hour."

Corin chuckled ruefully, shaking his head at the memory. "Amazing, how absorbed I was by my concentration on those others, that I allowed a clock to startle me!"

I laughed too. It was hard to imagine…but he had similarly startled me, earlier that day.

"I soon determined that the trails all ended at various sewer openings, as if the others had descended into the underbelly of the city. I had heard of this before: there were various of our kind living in the sewers in London, Paris, Rome, nearly every large city. Christianity and its superstitions had driven us all underground, haunting the nights like ghosts. I could only assume that the reason why had to do with the rules about keeping hidden that Siobhan had told me about years earlier, and once again, I wondered why.

"Why, when we are so powerful, when humans have no means to truly destroy us—because although they could burn us with fire, how could they catch and hold us? No iron bars or wooden cages can restrain us, no shackles can hold us, and no matter how many of them they are, they aren't swift enough to catch us if we truly want to flee them. It made no sense to me, that we would hide from them, skulk in the sewers like ghouls or rats, when they are truly nothing more than cattle for us.

"Well, I got my answer soon enough!" His eyes widened at the thought.

"I stood there a moment, trying to decide whether I wanted to go down into the sewers to find them. You see, I dislike being dirty, and the idea of slogging along through filth to find the others wasn't something I was exactly excited about. It also occurred to me that the others might not be friendly or welcoming to visitors: perhaps they wanted their privacy, and would be angry at my intrusion. Since others of our kind _can_ kill us, I had to think twice about that, whether I wanted to risk myself for something like that.

"But I didn't even have to decide; _they_ came to _me_.

"I smelled her first, the stranger that appeared in archway of an alley off to my right.

"She was tiny, like a child. She wore a long, hooded cloak, of a color so dark it was almost black. Beneath it she wore the typical dress of the time period. She came toward me and lowered her hood, and I saw that she was beautiful, but that whoever had made her had done so when she was quite young, no more than fourteen or fifteen human years.

"While I stared at her, two others came to join her, much larger, very big men, also wearing the long hooded cloaks, but a bit lighter. They stood with her before me, arms crossed, waiting, watching.

"The girl studied me for a long time, then finally spoke.

"'Who are you, stranger, and why have you come to Volterra?' she asked me. I got the feeling she was used to being answered to and obeyed, no matter her size.

"I looked at the two huge ones and decided I should answer, because I might not have time to compel them to leave me be before they managed to rip me to shreds if the girl so commanded them.

"I told her my name, where I had come from originally, and that I had simply come upon the others' trails and decided to seek them out, not having seen others of our kind in so long. She seemed satisfied with my answer, and asked me if I would like to come and meet the other members of their coven.

"I was surprised, of course, at the way she casually mentioned so many others. I was told that our kind don't live well with each other, our passions run too high, we become jealous and territorial, and that usually means that we are solitary or go in mated pairs or in groups no larger than three. I was very interested in seeing her 'coven', but cautious as well, as I hoped I wasn't walking into some kind of trap.

"She motioned for me and the other two to follow her; we made our way through the city, passing a few times down drains into the sewers, but always emerging again. It was as if they were following a prescribed path, trying to make sure they eluded any potential followers. Eventually we came to a citadel, the castle with the tower I had seen from the plains below. The girl led us inside through a side entrance, then through a maze of halls and rooms, til we ascended a few steps to the tower hall itself.

"The hall seemed to encompass the entire height of the tower, the ceiling high above. It was a huge, round room, with a few throne-like chairs spaced along the curving walls, and I noticed a drain in the center of the floor, slightly sunken. I smelled fresh blood, and realized immediately that this was where they fed. It bothered me: was something horrible meant for me, that they brought me to a room where cattle were dispatched, to avoid causing a mess?

"Then I saw them."

Corin stopped, his eyes closed as he seemed to be watching his memories play across the insides of his eyelids. I waited, breathless. Finally, he started again.

"They were clustered on the far side of the chamber, seven or eight of them. Five were old, older than anyone else I had ever seen, although I didn't know how I understood that. They were basically the same as the rest, but their skin was…different, it had a texture that looked almost like paper, was more delicate than ours. And their eyes had a slight film over the redness, so they looked cloudy—but they saw me very clearly, I know. Of the old ones, there were three men: two dark-haired, one with white hair, then there were two women, both pale blonde; the women seemed timid, hovering behind the men, against the wall. They never spoke. There were a few others around them, hovering, as if they were…bodyguards, perhaps, I guessed then, and I was correct.

"One of the dark-haired men noticed me and crossed the room to get a closer look at me. He moved even more gracefully than the others of our kind I'd seen, and I got the impression that he was very old. He smiled at me and held out his arms, as if he was greeting a long-lost friend."

Corin smiled fondly, as if he spoke of someone he held in great affection.

"He introduced himself as Aro, and said that the others were his companions, his brothers: the white haired one was called Caius, and the other dark one was Marcus. Neither greeted me; Caius merely stared at me for a moment before looking away as if he had something better to do, while Marcus barely seemed to see me, as if he was…completely and utterly bored.

"Aro introduced the females as their wives, Sulpicia and Athenodora; the women didn't acknowledge the greeting. I found out later that they rarely speak, and that the only reason they had even descended from their tower rooms was because they had all just fed there, in that huge round room.

"The others, the bodyguards, were Renata and Santiago, according to Aro; they nodded at me. The huge men behind me, with the tiny female, were Felix and Demetri, then Jane. I had no idea that my fate would be bound up with theirs so closely, so soon thereafter."

Despite his ominous-sounding words, Corin looked very happy.

"Aro looked me up and down, then offered me his hand, as if to shake. Although I didn't normally use such human mannerisms, I took it, because I somehow knew that offending him by refusing wasn't a good idea.

"Then…then, it was as if I could _feel_ him inside my head, sifting through my thoughts and memories. It was unnerving, I almost pulled away; instead, I shouted, 'Let go!'"

He grinned hugely, savoring the memory. "To Aro's immense surprise at himself, he dropped my hand as if it were burning him. Then he stared at me, and his face…" Corin faltered, for the first time seeming unsure. "Well, I don't know, it seemed at the time to be, I don't know, perhaps, _covetous_ is the best word. As if he had seen something, felt something, in me that he wanted.

"Aro clucked at me reprovingly, waving one finger before my nose. 'Dear boy, I mean you no harm. That is simply my gift, the ability to read your thoughts, and I use it to assure myself and my brothers that no stranger means any harm to us, or to our dear ones here.' Then he smiled broadly. 'It appears, my friend, that you possess a gift even more powerful than my own, in a way. How delightful! Compulsion! Something I have never experienced before. Fascinating!'

"Aro turned toward the others across the room, calling out, 'So, my brothers, what do you think? Perhaps we should invite young Corin to join us here?' He looked back at me and smiled radiantly. 'What think you, my son, would you like to stay here, among us? Assist us in maintaining the peace and sanity of our world?'"

I suppressed a shudder. Although Corin seemed almost entirely enamored of this Aro character, I could feel something behind his story, something…dark. Who were those creatures, who wanted to "maintain the peace and sanity"? By whose standards? And by whose authority? I disliked the idea of someone messing around in my mind, seeing things best left private.

"I wasn't sure at first; after all, I'd just arrived there, and had no idea who these beings were, why they wanted me in the first place. That was when Aro explained it to me."

Corin looked sharply at me for the first time in a while, catching my eye deliberately, making sure I was listening.

"You see, Alice, they are the ones who make it possible for us to live in peace. They had, long ago, done away with most of the ones who had been causing chaos among us and the mortals, the ones who inspired the name by which we commonly go by, _vampires_."

I stared at him. I'd heard that word before. I'd heard of books and stories about them, undead creatures, drinkers of blood, who couldn't withstand sunlight or crosses or garlic…Although I'd understood the similarity between that legendary creature and myself, regarding the blood-drinking and not aging, the resemblance stopped there. A successful play based on a popular book was still running on Broadway, with a figure called Count Dracula, a vampire, as the main character; rumor said it was to be turned into a moving picture soon. The name was on peoples' lips all over the city, but vampires weren't _real_. And I certainly wasn't one!

He noticed my expression and laughed shortly. "So, you know the term, eh?" He shook his head. "We suppose that the Romanian scum, the ones whom my soon-to-be masters, the lords of Volterra, were the ones who inspired those bloodthirsty legends. They flaunted their immortality and their power, and made mortals bow to them. When they attacked my masters' city around 500 AD—by humanity's calendar—and killed my lord Marcus's wife, Didyme, he went mad with grief. We still don't know why the Romanians were so intent on destroying them, and why they would hurt Didyme, who apparently was the soul of beauty and kindness.

"But they did, and so my masters took their guard and slaughtered them all, except for two, the oldest, the most powerful. Those two hid and escaped punishment; we still hear from them occasionally, they love to try to stir up trouble." Corin's expression was disgusted, as if he was discussing something repulsive.

I wondered at that. How odd, that this man, who had been so emphatically advocating our kind's domination of the world just a few minutes before, would now be so emphatically advocating the alternate position. How powerful were these creatures, these lord of Volterra? Had they…altered him? Done something to him akin to his own compulsion? I had to ask.

"But, Corin, why the change of heart?" I asked him hesitantly, almost afraid of the answer.

He looked at me strangely, as if I were insane.

"Alice, what other point of view makes sense?" he cried. "Aro explained it to me, and it was perfectly reasonable. Our kind cannot breed, we must make our new ones from humans, who are also our food. No matter how often we feed or create new ones from them, _they_ naturally breed so rapidly that they will always outnumber us. And as weak as they are, they can be dangerous, and they are inventive and cunning. It is best for us to remain discreet, take our prey from among them quietly, and not stir up problems. We have enough issues among our own kind to have to be preoccupied with fighting the cattle as well!"

I considered that. It did make some sense. Except…

"What issues?"

He rolled his eyes. "You truly are almost a newborn still, aren't you?" He shook his head again in disbelief at my ignorance. "I cannot fathom what your maker was thinking, to create you and leave you untaught that way. It's unforgiveable."

I bridled a bit at that; for some reason, I felt like my creation had been…important. To my maker, at least, regardless of why he or she didn't stay to teach me. I did resent that abandonment, but still, they must have had a good reason…

"Alice, our kind is passionate, extremely strong, and very territorial. Territorial over where we feed, territorial about our companions and mates, territorial about the lands we claim, even as nomads. We have a great deal of difficulty co-existing with each other, it always turns into a dispute, which leads to death and destruction, and disruption of everything around us. If we were allowed to let our passions lead us, we would consume this world in a matter of years in the plague of wars between ourselves, and then there would be nothing left. So, someone must impose order, impose law.

"My masters are that law. They have made it possible for our kind to live in peace; an uneasy peace, which is challenged often by those resentful of their authority, but they, _we_, are strong enough to deal with anything that must be dealt with." His chin lifted proudly.

I waited for him to go on, taken aback by his passion.

"Once Aro explained everything to me, and after I had met all of the others of their guard, I realized that it was nothing but pure logic for me to join myself with them. After all, my gift would help them so much, and their cause was worthy, and their companionship welcome. Somehow, they managed to exist together peacefully." He looked pensive for a moment, considering. "Of course, Chelsea's gift, which makes us all feel like a cohesive unit, strengthens our bonds to each other, so that helps a great deal, I imagine.

"I have been with them ever since. I have had the good fortune to become one of the central members of the guard. We are sent out whenever we get wind of a potential problem, such as rival covens making a spectacle of themselves, or others doing…aberrant things which cause problems for us all." He shuddered, as if remembering something horrible.

I raised a questioning eyebrow.

His expression was almost sick. "A while ago, perhaps 1000 years ago as humans estimate time, there was a…plague of sorts. Our kind was…changing humans, humans not fit for changing, not suitable. We had to put a stop to it, because the…results…were uncontrollable, extremely dangerous. Aro tried to understand them, you must understand, but in the end…there was no choice. They had to be destroyed. All of them. That particular plague was before my time, but I have heard the stories from those who were there, and they are sickening."

I stared at him, uncomprehending. "Unsuitable?"

Corin exhaled forcefully. "Yes, Alice. Unsuitable. There were some who were changing…children. Young human children, incapable of being able to control themselves, total slaves to their whims, wildly powerful and charismatic and beautiful. Eternal children, immortal children, who would never mature, frozen in the state of development at the time of their changing. Bloodthisty. Do you understand, how dangerous that would be, for everyone?"

Thinking about what I had observed of human children, during long afternoons in parks and museums and theaters, and I understood. Sweet, innocent…without restraint or conscience at their young ages…Such creatures could never be discreet. But it was still horrible to think of, their being destroyed. I tried to hide my revulsion.

"And also," he continued rapidly, as if trying to change the subject, "We put down a great many uprisings in the south of these continents. There were great wars between covens, armies of newborns used against each other, so much destruction and chaos that mortal populations were decimated." He looked at me proudly. "I helped, there. I made it possible, in many cases, to stop the chaos, single out the wrongdoer from the innocent, with as little death as possible. I have a purpose. _WE_ have a purpose." He nodded forcefully.

Somehow I knew his story was over. What now? I scrambled for something to say.

"So, why are you in New York? Any vampire wars here?" I threw out blindly.

He laughed, pushing his hands into his pockets, leaning back against the fireplace mantle again.

"No, actually, Alice. We're here on a scouting mission," he replied amiably, but his eyes held mine, magnetic. "We've been following you for quite some time, actually."

I froze completely, terrified. _Following me?_

Corin caught my reaction immediately and burst out laughing, bell-like. "No, silly girl, not to hurt you or hunt you. You see, Alice, when we're not meting out justice, we search out others of our kind who are…talented. Ones who might prove an asset to our group, who can assist us in keeping order."

It didn't even take me a second to consider the implicit offer and discard it. But how to say no, to a person who can simply tell you to change your mind?

"Why exactly would you want me?" I asked him, mystified.

"Because we need others with gifts. And we have someone with us here, Eleazar, who can get a feeling about the gifts of others, and another, Demetri, who can find anyone he seeks, as long as he has identified their…mind." He absently brushed his dark, longish hair back from his perfect forehead, gazing at me, considering. Evaluating.

"Eleazar and I crossed your path near Central Park the day before yesterday. We followed you for a while…saw your little apartment…trailed you down into Harlem, to some jazz club…I don't understand that music, but I suppose it's compelling to _some_…Then again and again to your little diner…" Corin chuckled, as if amused by my habits, as if it were something juvenile, then he cocked one eyebrow quizzically at me, seeming confused by something. "What appeal does it hold for you, to play like that with that girl, that waitress? Like you're toying with your food!" He tut-tutted at me like a father correcting a child; I bristled.

His expression turned condemning. "And you need to be more careful, Alice: what if she realized how very different you are? You can never truly become _friends_, become _close_, to one of them, don't you realize that?"

I sighed. I did know that. It still didn't make me want it any less. It was so hard, this waiting.

"Eleazar couldn't tell what your gift was from such a distance, of course, but he sensed something very powerful about it, and would like to take a closer look at you." He looked excited at the prospect of my being…examined. _Ech._ "I really think Aro would be very happy if we returned home with a new member for our family."

_What am I, a laboratory specimen? Or am I being drafted??_

"He and Demetri are hunting now. They'll be happy to know I found you, they'll be back here soon, I imagine." He smiled a cold, glittering smile.

My stomach tightened into a knot. I felt very, very cold and alone. And frightened.

_What now??_

I knew I couldn't go with them. I had absolutely no desire to be some mindless follower of these lords of Volterra, these self-proclaimed keepers of "vampire" secrets. But how to resist, if they decided to have Corin compel me?

I concentrated for a moment on the future, on my future, straining to see any hint, any flash, of what I should or could do.

I saw myself, wearing a strange hooded robe, like the ones Corin had described his masters as wearing, dark, almost black. Standing at the side of the one Corin had called Aro, I knew to my bones that's who it was, even though I'd never seen him before…and our hands were clasped. He smiled beatifically down at me, as if I was a pampered, favorite child. And I smiled back, fawningly, overjoyed with his approval, like a…_like a_ _dog, licking it's master's hand_.

I felt a current of disgust jolt through me. _**Never**_.

Was there nothing else? Was it decided? I struggled to force myself to see something, anything else. Anything would be better than that, cringing and servile at someone's feet, obeying their whims…

Then suddenly, something else was there. Hard and fast and vivid, even stronger than the vision of myself and Aro.

I saw a man and a woman, both dark and beautiful, both immortals. I saw them in a place of wild forests and rolling arctic tundra. I saw them with others, other with…

_Golden eyes??_

I saw myself, wandering again, free as a bird, but not here in America anymore. I saw a beautiful city, full of lights and music and art. _Free! _My heart, if it still beat, would have leapt inside me, I knew.

All of this passed in moments; Corin didn't seem to notice.

Then there was a commotion outside in the hallway: the suite door burst open so forcefully it slammed into the wall and bounced back, hitting the person who suddenly dashed inside. He didn't seem to notice or care.

_Him!_

It was the man from the vision I'd just seen. Beautiful and pale, through his skin had an odd, olive cast to it. His features were noble, Castilian, devastatingly handsome.

His eyes were wide and almost crazed, his long dark hair escaping from the tail it was pulled back into. He held something in his arms, wrapped in dark fabric. What was it? A…child? A small adult? He clutched it to his chest protectively, as if it were so fragile the contents would break.

An arm slipped free of the wrapping, the hand grasping, slapping weakly against the man's enclosing arm. Then a voice.

"Que estas haciendo, dejeme, dejeme en paz!"

It was a girl, a woman. The woman I'd seen with him? But that hand, the skin of it wasn't right, it was still human. Her scent was lovely, delicious…and beginning to change. What was going on?

"Ay, Dios, el dolor! Parase este dolor, por favor, Jesucristo!" she shrieked, and began to thrash against the man's restraining arms. His face twisted in anguish, and he glanced down at her, murmuring softly back to her in Spanish, begging her to be quiet, that it would be all right soon. She began sobbing against his chest, her fingers twisting the lapels of his suit jacket as if in agony.

Corin and I stared at them, frozen solid by surprise. He recovered first, dashing across the room in a flash, glaring at the man, then at the woman he held.

"Eleazar, what in the name of all that's holy have you done?" he cried, his Irish accent creeping back into his voice.

Eleazar simply stared back at Corin, his expression utterly bereft.

"I couldn't help myself, Corin, she was there, in the park…" He closed his eyes, remembering. His hushed voice was slightly accented, foreign. I was transfixed. "I was waiting for Demetri to come back, I'd finished hunting early, and was enjoying the afternoon, sitting beneath a tree…She was in the park, too, on a bench, reading a book. It was a biography of Santa Teresa de Avila, and it was in Spanish. That caught my eye. Teresa was the patron saint of my family…before."

He shifted the woman in his arms, who had left off the shrieking but was still crying softly, kicking the suite's door closed behind him. He carried her across the room and lay her down tenderly on a divan, pulling the wrapping away from her a bit. I realized it was a dark overcoat, similar to what Corin had had slung over his arm when we met. Modern camouflage while in America, since they couldn't very well wear long hooded robes?

I saw her face then. It was the face of the woman I'd seen with him, in my vision. Her face would have been very pretty, even now, still human, if not twisted by agony. Blood stained her clothes, but I couldn't see any wounds, couldn't smell any fresh blood. Then it hit me.

He'd bitten her. To change her. _She was burning_, right now, in front of us. Burning, changing…becoming. _One of us._

I watched her for a moment in horrified fascination. I hated seeing that pain. I remembered it very well, even though it had been nine years ago when I'd passed through it myself.

She was still crying, but silently now. Streams of tears coursed down her cheeks and into her long, dark hair; her lips, full and sensuous, trembled. She was praying. Saying the "Hail Mary," in Spanish, soundlessly.

Eleazar crouched down next to her, stroking back the hair from her sweating forehead. He seemed totally enraptured by her, but it was obvious her pain was torturing him. What had happened?

Finally he turned back to Corin. "I swear, Corin, I meant no harm. I was just watching her. She was beautiful, even for a human. And I could see she was Spanish, like myself. I was just…appreciating her. She saw me, and she smiled. I knew she wanted to speak to me, as much as I wanted to…speak to her.

"Then the wind shifted…" he trailed off into an agonized whisper, swallowing convulsively. "And I caught her scent…" He squeezed his eyes shut in memory. "And I couldn't help myself, Corin, I swear, I meant no harm! I've never felt anything like it!" His eyes flashed back open, his expression pleading. "It's like Aro said, her blood, it sang to me! I had to!"

Corin sighed in disgust, running his hands through his hair in frustration. "So what now, Eleazar? Now we must wait here for another three days, waiting for her to finish her transition, and then must baby-sit a bloodthirsty newborn in a city of a million humans? What about our mission? Have you forgotten everything in your—your _lust?_"

Eleazar lowered his head, dejected. "I am sorry, Corin. I had to. I had to have her. I am sorry," he murmured, and I could hear tears he couldn't shed in that beautiful voice. "Her name is Carmen."

Ah yes. That was it. Carmen and Eleazar. And the other golden-eyed ones, far to the north. Not my golden-eyed ones, but ones like them, who knew them…were almost like family. Everything was fitting together. I saw it, almost heard the clicking as things fell into place neatly. These two would be part of our greater whole, someday.

Corin swore under his breath and strode away, throwing open the French doors to the terrace and going outside, into the cool October afternoon. The sky was cloudy, grey, hinting at rain to come. Corin leaned over the railing, staring moodily into the distance, his jaw clenched in anger.

For the first time, Eleazar noticed me. His burgundy eyes widened at the sight of me there, curled up in a huge armchair before the empty fireplace. His brows lifted in surprise and recognition dawned on his face. "You!" he whispered.

I nodded. "My name is Alice. And I know you've been following me." I smiled in a way I hoped was encouraging, trying to put him at ease.

He nodded, biting his lip as he studied my face. He stared at me for a long time, but the entire time he kept stroking Carmen's sweating, contorted face. It was as if he were trying to memorize my features, or…to read something in them.

Suddenly his eyes widened again, in shock. "Ay, caray, que poder que tienes!" he murmured. "Alice, you are very talented!"

I nodded slightly, getting up from my chair to come join him on the floor next to Carmen's couch of pain. I reached up to touch her cheek. I could feel the heat of her blood moving beneath her lovely olive skin, could smell the venom burning through her veins. "So you can see it, then, what I can do?" I asked softly, meeting his eyes.

He nodded wordlessly. "You have no idea how much Aro and Caius will want you, Alice. You must come back with us, to Volterra."

I shook my head violently. "Never."

Eleazar looked confused. "But…why not? You could help us so much, could help us see where we are needed most, tell us when threats were emerging…You could help us do so much more good!"

I cut him off with a slash of my hand. "I won't be anyone's dog." I held his eyes, trying to force as much meaning into a few words as possible, to make him understand. "And neither should you, Eleazar. You have Carmen now. You don't need anyone like those…people. She's all the _good_ you need."

He blinked, nonplussed, then glanced down at Carmen again. She moaned, low in her throat, her hands grasping again at the air, as if trying to fight off the pain. He took one of them between his own, then looked back up at me. I saw, then, the understanding beginning to dawn on his face.

"What have you seen?" he whispered, barely audible. He cut a glance toward where Corin stood on the terrace, still in his angry sulk. I doubted he heard us, or was paying any attention in any case.

I leaned closer to him, my lips inches from his ear, to keep my words between us as much as possible. "You two have another future, Eleazar. Another path." I concentrated for a moment on my vision, trying to bring more detail to the front. "There are others like you, like me, who don't like being…monsters. There's another way, apparently. And if you take Carmen, and you go north…" I closed my eyes in concentration, trying to _see_ without seeing. "Alaska, Eleazar. Go to Alaska. To…Denali. That's where you'll find your new home. Denali."

Eleazar pulled back, his mouth slightly open in surprise. He looked…dazed. But happy. "How do you know, that I feel that way?" he asked softly.

I shrugged, grinning. "I don't know that part, but I know that we'll be great friends one day, you and Carmen and myself, and all of us. I've seen it coming."

He looked down at Carmen, who was murmuring to herself in Spanish again. The "Our Father" this time. Pain crossed his face jaggedly. When he looked back at me he sighed, seeming drained. "So what now, then, Alice?" He looked again toward Corin, who had stepped back from the terrace railing and had crossed his arms across his chest, still staring blankly, angrily into space. "If I tell him about you…Alice, he'll make you come with us. Make me help him make you come."

I knew that. "So lie to him, Eleazar. It's not that hard, you know. Corin's not…Aro. He can't read your mind."

He considered it for a moment, doubtfully. Then he sighed again. "All right, Alice." His dark red eyes locked on mine. "And I hope, for all of our sakes, that you're right. I have been…tired of this lifestyle for quite some time. And I'm not entirely happy with how things are done, back in Italy." His eyes hardened in something like anger.

A surge of hope washed over me. He would help me, and he and Carmen would leave the ones in Italy, those Volturi, and someday we'd all be friends. Family.

Eleazar got abruptly to his feet, reaching down gallantly to help me to my feet, although I didn't need his help. He had obviously reached some kind of decision.

_Click!_

The black-robed future disappeared. _Yes!_

He glanced toward Corin, who had turned to face us. "Am I forgiven, old friend?" he asked, holding out his hands in supplication.

Corin cursed again and rolled his eyes. "Ah, shut up, you Spanish devil!" he spat, but a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Then he turned to me. "So, Eleazar, what do you think of my little Alice here?"

_His_ Alice? This was worsening by the moment!

Eleazar cleared his throat, shrugged. "Well, Corin, she's definitely talented, but nothing that Aro would find particularly interesting." He glanced at me for a split second, then back at Corin. "It's something like what they say Marcus's wife, Didyme, could do. She makes people like her." He grinned innocently at Corin. "Hadn't you noticed it?"

The other man looked back at me, dumbfounded. "Is that it?" He shook his head, surprised. "I thought…maybe…she might be…right for me, or something." He managed to look bashful, shifting to look elsewhere, at anything else but me.

_**As if!**_ I almost shook from the force of the rage that swallowed me. _As if I'd ever give that conceited, smarmy, lapdog a second thought!_ Jasper's face hung in my mind like the sun. No one else but him.

Eleazar laughed at Corin's discomfiture. "Well, friend, everyone makes mistakes." He looked meaningfully at me, motioning toward the door with his eyes. "So, I suppose we don't have much to show for this trip out, after all. Aro will be disappointed."

Corin nodded absently, still staring at anything except me.

"So, do you want to go ahead and head back to Volterra, once Demetri arrives?" Eleazar asked, shifting so his body blocked mine as I started edging toward the door as quietly as I could manage.

The other man twisted his lips in consideration, looking at Eleazar. "What, and leave you here with…the girl?" He nodded toward Carmen, who huddled, trembling, on the couch. "And you follow afterward? Can you handle her by yourself? You know how Aro feels about newborns on the loose."

Eleazar nodded confidently. "Of course, Corin." He gazed down at Carmen, smiling gently. "She will love me, too, I know it. She will listen to me, and I won't leave her alone for a moment. I will make sure she doesn't do anything wrong."

Corin nodded. "All right then, I suppose that's—"

The door crashed open again, this time the doorknob striking the wall with such force it actually stuck in the plaster.

Another man, swarthy beneath the vampiric pallor like Eleazar, with longish dark hair like theirs, rushed in, his eyes also wild. What was going on?

"Look outside, the city's going crazy!" he cried, running past us toward the terrace. We all trailed after him, even me, although I knew it was smarter to take advantage of the distraction and leave. But I couldn't resist finding out what he was raving about.

It was true.

The streets below were boiling with people, the shouts and screams reaching us even that high—the suite Corin had taken in the Ritz-Carlton was just beneath the penthouse. I could make out the individuals' faces even from that distance with my sharp eyes, could read fear and anger and confusion. I looked down the avenue and saw throngs of people crowding around the entrances of several prominent banks, enraged and frenzied, pounding on the doors. I could hear the tinkling of broken glass as they threw stones at the windows. I could hear police sirens in the distance, drawing closer.

It was happening everywhere. The things I'd seen, the buildup of tension I'd sensed, it was coming to a head, now. The banks were failing. The stock market had crashed, peoples' savings, their lives, were spiraling down the drain. It was all starting here, now.

Suddenly, I heard screaming, but not from directly below—from the side. We all turned and stared.

Stared, horrified, as someone plunged over the side of a balcony wall, plummeting to their death. I ducked inside, sickened, to not hear the sound of their impact on the sidewalk tens of stories below. I did hear the screams of those who were standing nearby, when that poor man struck.

It wouldn't be the first suicide. A broken, desperate man, who felt he had no other option, his life destroyed when his savings were swept away by the rushing tide of chaos, who had lost the fortunes of others, and was consumed by guilt. It would become legendary, these self-inflicted deaths, a scar on the city's history forever.

I couldn't wait any longer. I had to go, right then, while the others' attention was fixed on the human drama below.

Sparing a glance for Carmen's ashen face and trembling form, I slipped out, through the wide-open door, creeping down the hallway to the fire exit. I ran down the stairs like the wind, emerging into the street, on the other side of the building from the suite far above where Corin, Eleazar, and Demetri watched the street below.

I slipped into the surging, heaving sea of crazed humanity, disappearing.

I made my escape from the city that same night.

I had booked a passage on a steamer ship bound for Europe. After consulting a few travel magazines at the agency where I went to buy my ticket, I had realized that the lights and buildings I had seen in my vision were Paris. It seemed like my kind of city, full of fashion and fun—and hopefully worlds away from the chaotic sadness of New York. And also from the prying eyes of those who might try to find me.

I wondered what would happen with Eleazar and Carmen. After a few attempts at focusing my visions on them, I found it surprisingly simple to see their futures, although Carmen's was still a bit hazy. Their futures were much easier to see, and much clearer than the human futures I'd watched; I speculated that it was because they were like me.

I saw Demetri and Corin return to Volterra, telling Aro that nothing special had happened, except that Eleazar had turned a human woman, convinced she was destined for him. Aro would smile benevolently, wishing Eleazar good fortune with his lady, hoping Eleazar would bring her to meet Aro soon. But I knew that wouldn't happen. Eleazar couldn't risk Aro seeing the lies he'd told Corin in his own thoughts; he and Carmen, once she had come out of the burning haze of transformation, would leave New York and strike out on their own, and eventually would go to Alaska, as I'd told him.

That, at least, was certain. I was fervently grateful that Corin didn't mention me to Aro, to pique his curiosity. I got a vague sense that, sometime far in the future, he would eventually learn about me, and that I would even meet him. But not yet. Not for a long time. I shuddered at the thought.

I had cleared out my little apartment, bestowing my belongings on my neighbors, who would wake the next day in surprise to the stacks of furniture, books, victrola recordsat their doorsteps…everything material I'd accumulated in my years in New York. But I saved some things for someone else.

I still had one important thing to do, before I could begin my voyage.

In the covering dark of the night, I let myself into Carolyn's bedroom by the unlocked window.

She lay, sleeping, curled up on her side, breathing slowly and steadily. Maybe she dreamed, but I didn't know. She never stirred.

Ever so quietly, I placed the box of things on the floor at her bedside. Some of my favorite clothes and other pretty things that I'd noticed her coveting from afar during the years she'd been serving my coffee. Things that would make her smile, and become her. I was a bit shorter than her, but her build was as slight as my own, whipcord-thin with hunger. Everything would fit. Except shoes. Her feet were larger than mine.

Atop the box I placed a smaller one; inside it was a pair of shoes. They were lovely but sturdy. Her feet wouldn't hurt anymore. And inside of the box, I tucked an envelope, fat and bulging with money. Also inside was a certificate of deposit with the Gold Reserve. I'd decided to make her the beneficiary of one of my accounts. Gold would always be good, even when paper money was useless.

Perhaps she'd be able to avoid that more…unsavory future after all.

I fled into the night, giggling as I lowered myself silently down the fire escape to the alley below.

I wished I could see her the next morning, when she awoke to find those things there. She would know who they were from, she'd seen those clothes on me before, and she would be so confused: how had I gotten into her room? She would look for me, every morning for the next few weeks til the diner closed down, waiting for me to come in, coffee pot ready.

But I'd never come back.

And now I stood on the deck of my ship, and the wind streamed past me, cool as a blessing, as the boat slowly pulled out of New York Harbor.

I looked up at Lady Liberty as we passed, her gleaming torch held aloft, her proud bronze face welcoming all comers to this country. But I was headed the other way. For shores unknown, futures barely glimpsed but eagerly anticipated. I could barely contain my excitement, could hardly keep my feet from dancing.

The sky sparkled with a million careless stars. I was free.

_Free._


	3. Chapter 3: Lonely Texas Highway

_**Author's disclaimer: This story is written about a time period of American history that dealt very bluntly and often unfairly with issues of race. Slavery was a fact of life, and racism was the rule and not the exception. Do not confuse my accurately accounting the prevailing attitudes and beliefs with endorsing such. Thank you.**_

**Chapter 3: Lonely Texas Highway**

I've told my story in bits and pieces a dozen dozen times over to many different people; I've even had it picked directly from my mind by those possessing such abilities. But I've never sat down and recounted the entire thing, from beginning to end, until now. I've been told my tale is an interesting one, although "interesting" isn't exactly the word I'd choose to describe the path my life has taken. So, to make others happy and to help myself remember things that I've begun to forget, I'll tell you about myself.

I was born Jasper Charles Whitlock III in a small town on the outskirts of Houston, Texas in the spring of 1843.

That was a crazy time in Texas. When I came into the world Texas was actually called the Republic of Texas, an island of defiance in the middle of the skirmishes between Mexico and the United States. The Lone Star flew on the flag proudly; Texas needed no one, it said.

The Whitlock family has a long history, going back to England hundreds of years. I won't bore you with that. They originally settled in the Americas in the East, along the coast from the Carolinas to Alabama, becoming Americans by determination and birth.

Years later, Great-grandfather on my father's side decided he'd had enough of the drama and strife of the Old South. He made a plan move his clan West, into the great wide-open wilderness, where every man has his opportunity to make himself anew. After all, the government was expanding Union territory west by leaps and bounds, nibbling and gobbling up territories from the Mexicans, French and Spanish, offering those newly-claimed lands to industrious and enterprising settlers for practically nothing.

So Great-Grandpa Whitlock dragged his part of the family, most kicking and screaming in protest, across hundreds and hundreds of miles of rutted roads, muddy trails, forested mountains, and rushing rivers, to settle in what would eventually become Oklahoma. There they settled amongst the rolling hills and determined to make a new life.

When Mexico's Santa Anna laid claim to the vast tracts of lands to the south of Oklahoma, what would become Texas, as Mexican territory, he offered generous bonuses and excellent opportunities to any Anglos who chose to make Texas their home. And my father, tired of the constant quarrels with Indians and Union soldiers in Oklahoma Territory, decided he'd take the Mexicans up on their offer. Apparently the Whitlock family has itchy, wandering feet.

He'd recently married my mother, a delicate Virginia belle he'd met while attending University; she wasn't nearly so enthusiastic about the prospect of moving to Mexican territory as Father was. He practically had to tie her to her saddle to get her to go. With everything they owned packed tight in a little wagon, trailing the horses and cattle behind, they struck out south, crossing the Red River, and made their way.

The Mexican government awarded Father a nice little tract of land outside of Houston, although it wasn't called Houston back then. Father used the grant money they supplied and built himself a house and barn and storage buildings, and a mill to supply water and grind grain. He was able to hire local workers, Mestizos for the most part (Mexican-Indian mixed people), dark-skinned and humble people who work hard without complaining for very little reward.

Before ten years had passed, Father had become a prosperous local figure, well-respected, and Mother had produced myself and my younger sister, Virginia—named after the longed-for rolling green hills of her home state. Mexico had also granted Texas its independence during that time, and for a brief period Texas was the Republic of Texas.

When the territory changed hands and became American soil, nothing much changed for us. Shortly after I was born, in 1845, the Republic of Texas was swallowed whole by the United States of America, becoming its 28th and probably most contentious, independent, and cantankerous member.

Father, being Anglo, was not stripped of his lands as many of the other locals were by the ravaging Union advance. His opinions were sought after and he became even more respected. People came from all around to have Jasper Charles Whitlock II give them his opinion on the value of a horse or the potential profit margin for the sale of cotton or whether that new irrigation technique would work. I grew up in his shadow, admiring his every move, vowing to be just like him when I grew up.

Father grew some cotton and corn, as well as testing out new crops like soybeans and sugar beet, seeing how well they took to the acidic east-Texas soil. His gambles paid off, and we did well, even when locusts came and gobbled everything up one year, and others when a drought would make the fields a crackling, dry forest of dead stalks. We had money put aside, credit with the banks, and a good reputation—all a man ever needs, Father said, besides a good woman and obedient children.

"Be a man of your word, son," he'd tell me, punching his fist into the palm of his other hand for emphasis. "Say what you mean, mean what you say, and do what you've promised. Don't be false, don't cut corners, and always keep your honor. That's what makes a man, Jasper." Then he'd chuck me under the chin and shoo me out, to curry the horses or bring in the water for the cows.

Between lessons with my tutors and chores for my father, I was kept busy, but I was allowed some time to play. My childhood was, for the most part, a good one; my father wasn't given to drink or gambling like many men were, and he loved my mother to distraction.

Ah, Mother. Although she was a trial sometimes, with her pining for Southern comforts and delicate manners, Mother was a gentle, sweet soul, who enjoyed laughing and games. We often sat up late in the evenings by the light of the oil lamp or the flickering fire, reading the most recent magazines and newspapers brought for us from Back East, reveling in the months-old news and gossip and goings-on.

She loved to read, and from an early age had pressed that love on me, until I rarely went anywhere without a book tucked into a pocket or pouch somewhere. Father, a much less bookish person, tolerated it, in the name of having an "educated son". His University days had been much more a social affair, apparently, not something he'd enjoyed for the academic fruits. I got the impression that there'd been a great deal of drinking and carousing involved, but he rarely spoke of it, cutting his eyes toward my mother in alarm whenever I asked him and telling me to hush up. I think he didn't like Mother to hear about it.

My little sister, Virginia, was the light of my life. Five years younger than me, she was my golden-haired shadow, always at my heels, pestering me with questions and observations and songs and jokes. I didn't mind, really, except when she played her silly practical jokes on me. From the age of three she was a devil for the ingenuity and inventiveness of her pranks.

She loved to put frogs in my boots, so that in the morning I'd put one foot in and get a slimy surprise; she's fall to the floor and howl with laughter at the sight of me, hopping around on one leg while trying to pull my boot off without squishing the poor frog. She loved to short-sheet my bed, or put hot pepper in my morning eggs.

One favorite prank of hers that nearly caused my death was when she spread marbles on the floor in the hallway leading out back to the outhouse. That time, I had padded downstairs, still half-asleep, needing to relieve myself…and had ended up flat on my back, staring up into her laughing face. I don't know how she managed to be right there when it happened; I imagine she'd been hiding in the linen closet just off the hallway, waiting.

I snatched at her with both hands, trying to catch her before she darted away, but she was too quick, fleeing down the hallway toward the back door.

I jumped up as quick as I could, and had taken about three running steps after her when…again, my feet went out from under me, and this time I flipped completely over, landing face-first among the scattered marbles on the cold plank floor.

Her giggled turned into screams of laughter. She was going to wake everyone up!

I managed to get up again and pursued her out into the night, but she was so fast, her white nightgown fluttering in the darkness, her laughter drifting back to me on the wind.

"You'll never catch me, Jas! I _always_ win!"

And she did. I stopped chasing her and went back to the house, enjoying the coolness and the sweet smell of the mesquite trees in the night. She must have stayed out in the dark somewhere, waiting for me to go inside. Probably lurking behind the huge old live oak behind the outhouse.

And so I locked her out. And put the key in my pajama jacket's pocket.

I went back to bed with a big smile on my face, and when she started howling outside for someone to open the door I just rolled over, put a pillow over my head, and slept the sleep of the just.

It drove Mother and the slaves and hired help to distraction, our constant warring and quarreling and making up. I'd always scream bloody murder at her, chasing her all over the house or barnyard til Mother would have to separate us with a scold and a rap from a wooden spoon. I'd foam at the mouth, vowing revenge, but within a few minutes her sunny smile and contagious laughter would melt my anger. I couldn't stay angry at her.

Sometimes we'd take off from chores and go swimming; I'd hide a spare shirt under mine, so she could divest herself of crinolines and underskirts and such, to swim in freedom in one of my roomy old button-downs. We'd swim and splash like ducks, and laugh for hours, eventually climbing out of the water to lay in the dry grass on the riverbank in the sun, drowsing beneath the buzzing hum of dragonflies and cicadas singing in the trees above, letting our clothes dry in the close heat of the afternoon. Then I'd help her re-plait her tangled hair and do up all the buttons and ties of her dress and we'd slip back into the farm compound, hoping we hadn't been missed. The local workers would smile indulgently and cover for us; they loved us, calling us "los machitos", the little blonde ones, and they sometimes snuck us candy too.

Although there was a local one-room schoolhouse for the children of the workers and townsfolk nearby, Mother wouldn't stand for me to have a "common education." How she'd want to die of shame, if she'd ever had the chance to know how many times I've attended and graduated from public schools!

Anyway, she made it her mission in life to obtain the best tutors for me, and also for Virginia, but back then a girl's education was something not really considered. A steady stream of well-credentialed teachers versed in various subjects trooped through our home for several years.

We took our lessons in the dining room, where we did our assignments at the big polished cherry wood table. We learned grammar and elocution from a big-nosed English import who had a bad allergy to dust and was given to fits of sneezing for ten minutes at a time; we were taught the Classics by a moldering old roly-poly man who had a tendency to doze off while he read from Cicero's Orations; we learned French and deportment from an older, unmarried woman who wore her dark hair pulled back so tightly it caused her to resemble a chinaman. Despite their particular peculiarities, we learned a great deal from them. Of course, we spent as much time joking about them behind their backs as we did listening to them…

When I reached the ripe old age of ten, Father added what he called "men's skills" to my curriculum. That consisted of everything having to do with weapons of any sort; dogs; horses; spitting: hunting and fishing and the cleaning and skinning of the spoils of such sports; and tracking.

In a few years, I'd become an accomplished student of Men's Skills. I learned how to fire a rifle and hit my target effortlessly; use a bowie knife and short sword and bayonet to carve up my chosen targets; train a dog to hunt and heel; ride any horse with four legs; spit like a camel; kill anything I hunted and then prepare it to be cooked for supper; and find things in the forest. It was great fun, and served me very well later in my life.

Virginia always grumbled when I received my lessons from Father. She wanted to be included as well, but Father wouldn't listen to a word of it. "Get back inside, Ginny, see to your mother. She'll teach you all you need to know." And Ginny would trudge back to the house, casting an occasional mournful glance back at me…and sticking out her tongue when Father wasn't watching.

I imagine that learning how to embroider and can peaches and darn socks is much less fun than learning the things Father taught me. I supposed it was unfair, but that's the way it was, back then.

Father and I got along well, most of the time. However, the older I got, the more I realized that he and I were, well, just _different._

Father was content as a pig in slop out in the fields directing his hired hands and slaves, or holding court with the local tradesmen and farmers, or in the evenings sitting before the fire with his feet propped up on the hassock, pipe clenched between his strong white teeth, reading the weekly paper. He was a simple man, a strong man, one who didn't have a lot of depth except depth of character. A more loyal, just, and devoted man couldn't be found. If he was a bit insensitive and intolerant at times, that could be excused beside his generosity and kindness.

I, on the other hand, enjoyed those simple, earthy things that my father loved so much…but it wasn't enough. As I mentioned before, I loved to read, and too often I got scolded by Father or one of the farm foremen for slacking; to be found in the barn leaning on my pitchfork reading a book wasn't an unusual occasion. I wasn't lazy…just easily distracted.

I was also, I realized eventually, very sensitive to those around me. Not in an overly emotional, effeminate kind of way; I was very _aware_ of those around me, and how they were feeling.

When I was a little boy, it was very unconscious. I knew it when Mother was sad, when she was feeling depressed and lonely. Before Ginny was born, when it was just her and I in the house while Father was out, I would often go looking for her. I'd find her curled up in the bed in the big bed in their room, the curtains drawn to keep the light out. I could feel her sadness like it was my own; I'd run to her and snuggle up next to her and put my arms around her as far as I could.

"Please don't cry, Mama, everything's all right, please don't cry!"

Something about a mother's tears is terrifying to a small child. And I would urge her, with everything inside me, to _feel _better, to _be_ happier.

After a moment, without fail, she'd silently dry her tears and turn to face me, her wan face warming with a smile. "Ah, my sweet Jasper, you always make me feel better. What would I do without my boy?" she'd murmur. And everything would be better.

And then when Mother was happy, it made my world glow. Although I hadn't realized why at the time, when she was carrying Virginia she was the happiest I'd ever seen her before then. I'd sit nearby while she rocked herself in the cane rocking chair that Father had made her shortly after I was born, knitting little clothes and humming softly. Sometimes she'd actually break into song.

_**Oh, Shenandoah, I long to hear you,  
Away, you rolling river  
Oh, Shenandoah, I long to hear you  
Away, I'm bound away, cross the wide Missouri.**_

_**Oh, Shenandoah, I love your daughter,  
Away, you rolling river  
Oh, Shenandoah, I love your daughter  
Away, I'm bound away, cross the wide Missouri.**_

_**Oh, Shenandoah, I'm bound to leave you,  
Away, you rolling river  
Oh, Shenandoah, I'm bound to leave you  
Away, I'm bound away, cross the wide Missouri.**_

_**Oh, Shenandoah, I long to see you,  
Away, you rolling river  
Oh, Shenandoah, I long to see you  
Away, I'm bound away, cross the wide Missouri.**_

She had a high, sweet voice that caressed every note, every syllable. It was such a sad song, it made me want to cry, but she wasn't sad while she sang it. I understood eventually that she remembered that song from her childhood, it was about the Shenandoah Valley in Virginia, near where she grew up. Apparently, Mother took a lot of personal meaning from the song, for Father had taken her away from her beloved green home, to cross the wide Missouri, indeed even the mighty Mississippi. She longed for her old home, but I knew she loved her new one, too, as long as she had Father and me to help fill it. And eventually, Ginny was born, and she completed our little circle.

After Ginny was born, life changed a bit for me. I went from being the pampered only child, the prince, to being the older brother, something I took with grave seriousness. I watched over her crib like a guard dog, determined not to allow anything to bother the sleeping baby.

She was so pretty, all chubby limbs and pink cheeks and shining gold curls. She was a happy baby, even then, laughing early and often. She brought a lot of joy to our home. After that, I didn't have to help Mother be happy nearly so often.

As we got older, Ginny and I grew closer. At first it was the protective older brother role that I undertook, but it changed, expanded, deepened, as we grew up. By the time I was fourteen and she was nine, we were inseparable, or as much as possible. She followed me about as I did my chores, chattering at me and telling me jokes to make me laugh—she always said I didn't laugh enough. We'd do our lessons together, and she always helped me with my grammar and I helped her with her math. I secretly taught her some of the things Father taught me during Man Time: by the time she was ten, Ginny could spit ten feet and hit a tin can, something that would have made Father turn purple with rage and made Mother faint dead away.

Often she'd sneak into my room at night, after everyone else was deep asleep, starling me awake by putting her freezing-cold little feet against the backs of my legs. I'd just roll over, make more room for her, and we'd snuggle together under the patchwork quilt Mother had made during the long trek south from Oklahoma. When morning light touched the windows the next day, she'd be gone, tucked innocently into her own bed. I had no idea how she managed to never get caught.

Ginny hated being alone in the dark; sometimes she had strange nightmares, and would come running in, hair in wild disarray and eyes wide with fear. I'd always somehow know she was coming on those nights, and would be sitting up, waiting, when she burst in through the door, diving headlong into the bed with me.

I could feel her fear the same way I could feel her pounding heart. I'd rub her back and murmur to her under my breath, and I'd urge her, like I'd urged Mother, to feel better, to not be afraid. After a little while she'd calm, her breathing would slow, and she'd let me lay her down and cover her up to sleep.

"You won't ever leave me, will you, Jas?" she asked me once in a timid little whisper. Her big blue eyes gleamed in the moonlight that streamed through the window, turning her hair all silvery.

Even though I couldn't promise it with any certainty, I rolled my eyes. "Of course, Ginny. Now hush and go to sleep." I tucked the quilt up under her chin and lay down beside her. "I'll stay awake and keep the nightmares away, all right? Go to sleep."

And she did.

As the years passed I became more conscious of that ability of mine. It was strongest with people I knew, but I could walk into a room and know right away what was going on by the _feel_ I got from those inside. As I matured, I realized I could manipulate those feelings, like I had with Mother and with Ginny.

It became very handy when I eventually left home, for the Army, to be able to assess the emotional states of those around me and then influence it the way I chose, whether it be to calm or to excite. It was amazing to me that often older, more experienced men would stop and listen to what I had to say, would agree with me, would even follow what I suggested. At times the power of it was a bit heady, but I tried to keep it from going to my head, because Father always admonished me against too much pride. He said it caused good men to go bad.

Sometimes I thought my parents knew something about my unusual skill. Especially Mother. I would catch her watching me, a shrewd, knowing look on her pretty face. She never spoke about it, but I knew that she understood _something_ was different about me.

Father would stare at me sometimes, too, but I knew he didn't _want_ to know about it. He'd make excuses for what I could do, saying what a charismatic and influential man I would become, that I had a natural gift for leadership. He was, as I have said, a very simple, straightforward man, for whom supernatural things are not to be paid attention to.

I have mentioned before that Texas was in a state of near-constant turmoil during my formative years. Texas bounced from being a protectorate of Mexico to being its own Republic, and reluctantly became a State of the Union shortly after my birth. My father, though born and raised in Oklahoma, considered himself a Texan by predestination, and having been brought up by my grandfather to be skeptical of the central government, he was a critic of the way that the country was being managed.

There had been grumblings and rumblings of problems for years. It showed in the way the prices of cotton, indigo, and other Southern cash crops fluctuated. Father's intelligent policy of testing new crops and not being overly dependent on any one helped him from going bankrupt during the time leading up to the Civil War, when high tariffs and taxes on Southern products caused uproars among the plantation owners. He also had invested a good deal of money into raising cattle, which would prove the means to keep him solvent and prosperous in the years ahead, as Texas shifted from a farming to a ranching state.

The issue of the abolition of slavery was a lightning rod of contention as well. I grew up in a time when it was a common thing for one man to own another, to own many of them, for that matter. Many people didn't even consider the colored people fully human, much less the equal of us white folks. My Father owned some slaves, but not too many; he preferred hired men, having more of an affinity with the Mestizo freemen than he did with the few Negroes. I know he believed the accepted canon of the day, that the colored races were subject to the white race, but he was never cruel to any of the hired help or slaves, and always cared for them well. However, I have to say in retrospect, he also cared well for our livestock, and had about the same sentimental attachment to them.

Since where we lived slavery wasn't such a widespread thing, it was often an issue of debate, but not one so bone-deep important as it was to those in the Deep South. It was more an issue of principle, or eminent domain and states' rights and sovereignty. Texas, although a Southern State, considered itself apart from the rest of the South and the country as a whole. Texans were willing to go along with the prevailing tide so long as it was beneficial to Texas: that was always the point.

When I was sixteen, things began to come to a head. The election of a new president, Abraham Lincoln, was declared a disaster by the farmers and tradesmen of the area, my father included. The feeling was strongly echoed in the state legislature, even our noble Governor Sam Houston declaring Lincoln's election an "unfortunate event."

"Nothing good will come of this, son," Father murmured to me one evening, at a meeting of the local Grange farmer's association chapter, where they were discussing the recent changes in the government. He fanned himself absently with a propaganda leaflet advocating Texas seceding from the Union. "Nothing good at all. We're heading for war, Jasper, you mark my words." He jerked a hard nod to emphasize it, patting my knee.

He was very right. It came sooner than we'd expected.

Outraged by the prospect of the freeing of the slaves and the obvious encroachment of the Union Federal government on the lives and livelihoods of free citizens, state after state in the Deep South seceded from the Union over the next couple of months. They were tired of being discriminated against economically, tired of being looked down upon socially and politically, and sick of the double standards. They didn't like the idea of the federal government meddling in their lives, telling them that the way they'd lived and done business for over a hundred years as wrong—that they couldn't own slaves and use their labor to increase their profits. Slavery was the lightning-rod issue.

The states fell like dominoes, and the Confederacy was born. A new capital was declared in Richmond, Virginia. A new President of the Confederacy was elected, Jefferson Davis, a fiery, charismatic man who vowed to bring the Southern States to the heights of glory and power long denied them by Yankee oppression. My mother wept into her handkerchief, thinking about what war would do to her beloved home state. For surely, war was just a heartbeat away. Virginia had been a battleground during the Revolutionary War, and again during the War of 1812…surely, worse would come now, with brother to fight brother on their own soil.

One evening, Father burst into the kitchen, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling. The cold, February wind blew in behind him, scattering the napkins Ginny had been folding on the kitchen table. We all looked up at him in shock.

"Jasper Charles, shut that door!" Mother scolded from her chair by the kitchen fireplace, where she was supervising the cook in preparing dinner. She'd given up cooking long before; Ginny's birth had caused her many problems, and she had difficulty standing for long periods of time. She called Father "Jasper Charles" to distinguish him from myself, especially when she was irritated.

Father had a folded piece of paper in his hand, which he slammed down onto the table so hard it shook, knocking over the saltcellar. "Look at this, Margaret. It's done! Finally done!" His voice was rough with excitement…and fear.

Ginny crept quietly behind him to shut the door, then stole over to where I sat at Mother's feet. I'd been reading to her from the most recent "Prairie Home Companion" magazine.

Mother looked at him mildly, rocking a bit in her chair. I knew her quiet demeanor was a lie; I felt her fear like jagged electrical jolts spiking out from her. "_What_ is done, Jasper Charles? Come now, don't keep me in suspense any longer. What have you there?" She reached out toward Father for the paper. "I certainly hope it's important enough to burst in so impolitely and interrupt my kitchen."

Father flushed a bit. He hated it when she reprimanded him, but he didn't ever respond roughly. He was a gentleman.

He gave her the paper, and I watched her expression change as she read it carefully. I felt the fear escalate into raw terror, though she kept her expression as blank as possible.

"What does it say, Mama?" Ginny whispered.

She bit her plump lower lip, darting a quick, terrified glance at me. She was afraid for _me_?

She began reading in a slightly trembling voice.

"_We hold as undeniable truths that the governments of the various States, and of the confederacy itself, were established exclusively by the white race, for themselves and their posterity; that the African race had no agency in their establishment; that they were rightfully held and regarded as an inferior and dependent race, and in that condition only could their existence in this country be rendered beneficial or tolerable. _

"_That in this free government all white men are and of right ought to be entitled to equal civil and political rights; that the servitude of the African race, as existing in these States, is mutually beneficial to both bond and free, and is abundantly authorized and justified by the experience of mankind, and the revealed will of the Almighty Creator, as recognized by all Christian nations; while the destruction of the existing relations between the two races, as advocated by our sectional enemies, would bring inevitable calamities upon both and desolation upon the fifteen slave-holding States. By the secession of six of the slave-holding States, and the certainty that others will speedily do likewise, Texas has no alternative but to remain in an isolated connection with the North, or unite her destinies with the South. _

"_For these and other reasons, solemnly asserting that the federal constitution has been violated and virtually abrogated by the several States named, seeing that the federal government is now passing under the control of our enemies to be diverted from the exalted objects of its creation to those of oppression and wrong, and realizing that our own State can no longer look for protection, but to God and her own sons - We the delegates of the people of Texas, in Convention assembled, have passed an ordinance dissolving all political connection with the government of the United States of America and the people thereof and confidently appeal to the intelligence and patriotism of the freeman of Texas to ratify the same at the ballot box, on the 23rd day of the present month." __**(Text taken directly from the Texas Ordinance of Secession, February 1, 1861)**_

Ginny stared up at Mother, mystified. "What does it all mean, Mother?"

Mother met my eyes, and knew I understood. And I suddenly understood why she was afraid.

War was coming, and I was sixteen. I was a young man, a proud Texan, and if my fellow Texans were going to war to defend our sovereignty, I would follow suit. I had to.

And she didn't want me to go.

Father took back the paper and stuffed it into his breast pocket, settling into his customary chair at the dinner table. He pulled out his pipe, tapped out the old tobacco, and packed it with fresh before lighting it with a coal from the kitchen hearth, leaning back to exhale a long cloud of fragrant smoke. His bright blue eyes twinkled between the narrowed lids; he was thinking hard. He looked over at Mother and they stared into each others' eyes for a long moment, no words necessary. Then he turned and met my eye. Pulled the pipe from between his teeth and pointed it at me accusingly.

"Don't let this go to your head, boy. You're far too young to be thinking of going to war." His tone was flat and final.

I nodded assent, feeling Ginny's fingernails dig into my forearm as she suddenly clenched it between her palms. I felt her terror bloom as she realized what they were talking about.

Dinner was a solemn affair, and Ginny and I excused ourselves as quickly as possible, going to my room to supposedly finish up the last of our schoolwork.

As soon as the door closed, she tackled me, knocking me onto the bed. Even though I outweighed her significantly, she was devilish strong, and terribly fast. She pinned me to the covers and stabbed a finger in my face, her voice shaking.

"Jasper Charles Whitlock III, if you run away and join the Army, I SWEAR I'll never speak to you again!" she whispered, not wanting to speak too loudly and draw attention. She was all of eleven years old, but seemed much older. She was terrified by the thought of my leaving.

I rolled my eyes and laughed at her, sitting up and pulling her little frame into my lap. She nestled her head against my collarbone, sniffling. "Be serious, Gin, it's still early, it might not even come to that. Maybe it'll be like Mexico, maybe the Union will give us up without a fight, you never know!" I patted her bright hair reassuringly.

She shook her head. "No, Jas, it's going to be worse than you think." She seemed so certain.

Sometimes she startled me when she made those kinds of prophetic remarks. She had done it more than a few times, and much to my surprise whatever she proclaimed often happened.

Perhaps that is one reason I was so drawn to another tiny, funny, prophetic woman…

"Still, Ginny, I'm only 16. It'll be years before I can join up. Usually you have to be at least 18, and maybe by then it'll have all blown over."

I didn't tell her how I'd already begun devising a plan of escape. She didn't need to know that.

She sighed against my chest and shook her head again. I think she knew I was lying, but she didn't want to argue.

Reluctantly we opened up our books and began the laborious declension of Latin verbs. Our classics tutor was due tomorrow, and we had about 25 verbs to memorize. Even though she was five years my junior, she bested me every time in Latin. It kept us busy for several hours, then it was time for bed.

She had another nightmare that night, the first one in years.

Ginny charged into my room, still half-asleep, leaping into bed with me, her trembling shaking the bed. I held her til it stopped, til my patient, silent urging her to calm down worked. Once again, she looked up at me, terror on her little white face.

"Don't leave me, Jas. Don't ever leave me." There it was again.

Again I patted her and urged her to sleep. But I didn't say I wouldn't go.

A few days after the Texas Ordinance of Secession was drafted, on February 7, the Texas legislature voted to secede from the Union; on the 23rd of that month, the state voters supported that decision by an astonishing majority. A few days later, on March 4th , the state convention formally declared Texas' secession and ratified the Confederate Constitution. Texas had officially parted from the United States of America, and joined the Confederate States of America.

The next order of business was to make an actual separation from the United States. Several Texas delegates went to the Federal army bases located in various places throughout the state and negotiated for the surrender of Federal territory. In a strange twist of fate, the US surrendered its holdings to Texas and the Confederacy at the old Alamo Mission, the site of the great battle not too long before.

War was in the air; you could almost smell it, like the smell of blood or burning. It infected everything. It was all the farmers and merchants and tradesmen spoke of. Even the slaves and hired help murmured among themselves, the children and young men all swaggered as they practiced drills and maneuvers with mock weapons.

It was assured that things would come to conflict, soon. There were already rumors of Union ships to be sent to blockade Galveston Harbor, which could potentially cripple the state's inflow and output of goods. There was talk of a draft. I turned seventeen in the spring, only one short year away from being eligible for service. My mother nearly chewed through her lip in fear, Father was constantly twitching his mustache and glaring at me, his silence almost daring me to sneak off so he could punish me.

They knew it was coming. After all, Father had trained me for it. I could already handle musket and rifle, pistol and bayonet and bowie knife. I was skilled in hand-to-hand combat, taught by a succession of teachers with various leanings of philosophy, whether it be Indian or African or Chinese. I was tall for my age, over six feet, already towering over my father, and strong. People who didn't know me thought me much older than seventeen.

And the hunger for combat burned in me. Although I wasn't a bloodthirsty person, I craved the potential for glory and honor earned by my deeds, to be able to champion my homeland against the crass expansionism of the Union. I wanted to be a patriot, a defender of the values my father had raised me to cherish. I was determined.

I had a little money put aside, from my birthdays and Christmases past that I'd never spent; I was never one to buy silly things like other boys. I had almost fifty dollars tucked into a cigar box beneath the mattress of my bed, a small fortune back then. Even though we were no longer members of the Union, the dollars would still serve to get me out of Texas, to Virginia or Tennessee, where I could join up with a company, telling them I was older than my actual age. How would they know? Back then there was no such thing as a birth certificate or social security card, much less a driver's license. You were whoever you said you were, and if you claimed to be a man grown and could back that up with a man's actions, who would question you?

I had a vague idea of what to do, and knew where to find support for it.

I was good friends with another boy my age, Henry Berryman. His family lived in Alto, a good ways away from Houston, but his mother had family near my father's farm, and Henry had spent most of every spring and summer there since he was six years old. Henry was an easygoing boy, given to laughter like my little sister, always with a ready smile and a funny story. He was only a year younger than myself, so we made a good pair.

Henry and I had taken our Man Lessons together sometimes, which delighted my father, who I knew secretly pined for another son. Henry was a good shot, as good as me, though he was a bit afraid of knives. He was more than my match, however, at tracking and hunting, being able to move soundlessly through a forest floor carpeted in crackling dry autumn leaves. That mystified me, how he could do that; it was difficult even for a vampire, I discovered some years later.

When the news of the war broke, Henry was staying with his grandparents, even though it was early spring. His mother had been sick for some time, and his father had sent Henry and his older brother, Newton, away, to give the woman a bit of peace to recover. The day after Texas officially joined the Confederacy, March 5, 1861, I snuck out of the house before dawn, threw a saddle onto my horse, and struck out for the Berryman's farm, about ten miles away from ours. It was so early that I left Ginny asleep in my bed, her pale little face finally calm in the wan pre-dawn light.

It was a bitterly cold morning, I remember that; I could see the steam of my breath streaming around me as I rode, my horse's hooves clop-clopping hollowly on the hard-packed, dusty road. After a while their farm hove into view; I wasn't surprised to see Henry waiting for me, perched on the split-log fence right by the gate.

He grinned and waved, jumping down to unlatch the gate to let me pass. Once he'd closed it after me, I reached a hand down to pull him up behind me in the saddle, and we struck out for our favorite spot, a little grove of aspens beside the creek that formed the boundary between his grandparents' farm and my family's. We'd often spent lazy summer afternoons there, sometimes with Ginny, fishing with cane poles, telling jokes, swatting flies.

The familiar little place was welcoming, even in the chilly morning. The sun had just broken over the horizon, I remember, and it glittered savagely across the creek, which was just losing its winter ice. We dismounted and I tied up my horse, covering her with a blanket against the cold, and we settled down on the creekbank to talk.

"So," he said amiably, flicking a pebble into the creek with a tiny splash. "When do we go?" It was so matter-of-fact, a given, that we were taking off to join up.

I chuckled. How many times had we played soldiers, down here among these trees, or in the shadow of my father's barn, kicking up the dust with our horseplay? How many times had we replayed the battle of the Alamo, always bickering over who got to play Big Jim Bowie? He'd already talked of joining the army long before any talk of secession and war; his older brother, Newton, was now old enough to enlist, and had been preparing to go to West Point in the fall; now, he'd surely join the Confederate Army or Navy instead.

"Well, Henry, I guess it's a matter of when we can get it all put together, eh?" I joined him in chucking stones into the water, giving my hands something to do. I could feel the excitement and nervousness vibrating off him in trembling waves, warring with each other inside him. I knew exactly how he felt.

Henry turned and looked at me. "Where would we go? I mean, where's the closest place we can enlist and not be asked about our ages?" Excellent question. I'd assumed we'd have to leave the state.

I frowned, thinking. "Well, where's Newton going? I'm sure he's not going to wait now."

Henry's eyes lit up. "Oh, he's heading back to Alto in three days or so. Grandpa said they're putting together a conscription board there. " His freckled face shone with pride; he adored his older brother.

"Do you think we can go with him? Maybe he'd vouch for us?" It was a long shot; Newton was stiff with honor, and disliked lying and deceit. He and Father got along well.

Henry's gingery eyebrows raised in surprise. "Hadn't really thought about that…" He trailed off, considering. "Maybe. Newt's all fire and brimstone since last night. He wants to join up as soon as possible, says it's his sacred duty and all…He knows I want to join up too, but Mama's dead-set against either of us going. Probably like yours, huh?"

I shook my head sadly. "Mother and Father both, it seems." I threw one last stone into the creek as hard as I could in disgust. "After all his talk about honor and service and man's duty to God and country…you'd think he'd be more understanding."

My friend laughed. "Oh, come on, Jas, you're your daddy's pride and joy, his only son. No man wants to see his boy go be a soldier, maybe come home in a pine box."

It struck me that he was right. Even as sensitive as I could be, I hadn't really taken the trouble to think deeply about the reasoning behind Mother and Father's concrete disapproval. I sensed their fear and anger, but didn't really understand why—until then. It made sense. I saw that pine box in my head, thought about how it would affect them if I never came home. It twisted my guts into a knot.

"Humph," was all I could say in reply. It still stung. I wanted to go! I wanted to see the world, earn my way!

Henry laughed again, brushing the dust off his palms on the thighs of his dungarees. "Well, I'm the youngest of a big family, Jas, so if I go off to war and end up as a sad letter to home, it'll hurt them, but not kill them: after all, Georgiana's already got kids." Mark was the oldest in their family. Henry laughed without a hint of bitterness; he was a happy person, content with his lot in life. "It's always been a given that Newt would end up a career soldier, but I'm sure he'll settle down someday. Me?" He clapped his hands together for emphasis. "Mama and Papa know I'm a wild card, a rolling stone…Mama doesn't want me to go join up 'cause I'm the baby, and Newt 'cause he's her favorite." He made a face. "But it doesn't matter. Newt's nineteen, and I think Papa'll let me go, if I ask him, I'm sure, especially if Newt takes me with him."

I glanced over at him in surprise. "Really?" My heart sank. Would I get left behind?

He took a deep breath, eyeing me thoughtfully. "Maybe Newt will agree to take both of us, eh?"

My heart skipped a beat in wild hope. "Really? What do I need to do?"

Henry got to his feet, offering me his hand to pull myself up. He was a lot shorter than me, but strong and solid. My long legs sometimes were a hindrance to getting up quickly.

"Well, let's go talk to Newt first of all, and then we'll see what happens. You had breakfast?"

I laughed, my stomach rumbling in answer. He joined me in the laughter as we untied my horse and mounted, riding her toward his grandparent's home.

Three days later, everything was set.

I had my money, a few changes of clothes, some traveling food and supplies, and various other things that I might need stashed in a storage shed near the front gate of our property, one where people seldom went.

When we'd finally found him in the horse barn of their grandfather's farm, Newton had listened gravely to Henry and I as we told him about our desire to run off and join the army, not interrupting our impassioned pleas for his help. After we'd both run out of breath, after stumbling over each other several times, he'd rubbed his chin thoughtfully, nodding to himself as he thought. At first I'd thought he was mocking us with his serious demeanor and prepared myself for rejection.

But Newt was a very serious, thoughtful kind of young man, old for his nineteen years, and he actually surprised us both when he finally looked up at me and smiled.

"Sure, Jasper, I'll help you. It's an honorable thing to want to do, after all, a desire to serve your homeland." He'd gotten to his feet, setting aside the saddle he had been polishing, and stuck out his hand for me to shake. I took it numbly, surprised into silence. "I congratulate you on your patriotism and chivalry. Even a bit of deception can be overlooked in this case, I think. I guess your Pa will end up being proud of you, after he gets over the first shock!"

We'd all laughed about that one, although I doubted Father would ever forgive me.

Newton had gone to his father that night and had a serious, man-to-man talk with him about Henry and I. Their father had come to his father-in-law's farm to help with the spring calving, and would have been bringing his sons home back with him in a few weeks, as their mother was recovering nicely. Henry told me about their conversation the next day, while we hid ourselves in the hayloft of my father's big cow barn. He'd concealed himself out in the hallway while Newton had talked to their father, so he could hear it all.

"At first, Pa didn't like the idea at all," Henry whispered breathlessly. We were hiding up there from the workers who were pitching the morning hay to the cattle below. "He said he didn't want to mettle in another man's business, especially not a man like _your_ Pa." He chuckled; I rolled my eyes.

"But eventually Newt wore him down. We just have to make sure your Pa doesn't find out _my_ Pa knew about this, all right?" I nodded agreement.

Henry and Newton's father had agreed to provide Henry with a letter declaring that Henry had his father's blessing to enlist, and I would tag along with him and Newt when they went to Alto to enlist. I would have to say I was over eighteen, which shouldn't be too hard to do, since I looked older than seventeen anyway; Henry would say I was his cousin from Oklahoma, to avoid any potential connections to my father. The Whitlock name was pretty well known, but if I said I was from the Oklahoma branch of the family chances were good no one would ask too many questions. Texans have a basic dislike of Oklahomans.

The day before our departure, I was very careful to not act nervous, though I was as tense as a long-tailed tomcat in a room full of rocking chairs. I helped Father around the farm all day, enjoying spending my last day with him, praying it would only be my last day for a while, that I'd come back after the war was over, a decorated war hero to make him proud. I did my best to urge him with my peculiar gift to be relaxed and calm, and it seemed to work.

Once night fell and we returned to the house, it was a bit more difficult to keep up the charade. Mother and Ginny both were very observant and sensitive, and they'd both taken to watching me closely since the whole war issue had reared its ugly head, trying to catch some hint of a plan to take off and enlist. I ate until my stomach hurt, even though I wasn't hungry in the least with excitement and nervousness; I helped Ginny clear and wash the dishes, making sure I did enough complaining that it didn't seem unnatural.

I stood elbow-to-elbow at the sink with Ginny, enjoying the companionable silence as she washed and I dried. We even got into a little splashing contest, giggling uncontrollably until Mother hollered for us to stop getting her floor wet, the cook was gone for the night! I dutifully fetched a towel and we mopped up the sudsy water, suppressing our laughter, until we could escape upstairs.

Once we reached my room, she sat cross-legged on my bed, looking like a china doll with her porcelain skin and tumbling golden curls, meeting my eyes unblinkingly as I shut the door behind me and went to sit at my old roll-top desk. Trying not to act as skittish as I felt, I rummaged around for my grammar textbook; we had an assignment due the next day, supposedly.

"What's going on, Jas?" she finally asked me, after I had spent ten minutes studiously avoiding her eyes, concentrating on the textbook in front of me but seeing not a word.

I looked up at her innocently. "What do you mean, Gin?" I struggled to keep my voice steady.

She glared at me, her eyes like sapphires, hard and cold and sparkling blue. "Oh, don't play me for a fool, Jasper Charles Whitlock III." She sounded just like Mother. I winced. "You're planning _something_."

I shook my head and sighed. "Ginny, you have got to stop being so suspicious. What on earth could I be planning to do?" I motioned down at the book before me. "I am doing my grammar homework—which, I must point out to you, you have to do as well."

She snorted derisively. "You know, I may only be twelve, but I'm not stupid, Jasper. I know it when you're plotting something."

I felt my stomach sinking with dread. She could ruin everything. One cry to my father or mother and it would all be over; I couldn't lie outright to them, if they demanded to know what I was up to. It would shame my father, and shame me as well. Lying to her? Well, not so much of a shameful thing; after all, she was a little girl, and I owed her no honor except to be the best big brother I could be. And what better example of manhood could I provide her with, than being willing to go and serve my country in a time of war?

Even though the justification worked logically, it still stuck in my throat like a bitter pill.

So I tried a different tack.

Theatrically, I let my shoulders droop and sighed, as if defeated by her superior logic and skills of divination.

"Fine, you got me," I mumbled. Her eyes brightened with glee as she realized she'd "caught" me.

"So what is going on? Are you sneaking away?" she whispered conspiratorially, crawling forward on the bed to get closer to me. "You'd better not be!" Her voice was savage with menace.

I shook my head. "No, but Henry is. He and his older brother are heading off tomorrow, and they're using me as an excuse to get away." I sighed again. "Henry told his Pa that he's coming over here to spend a couple of nights, to help us get the first couple of calves branded. But they're really going to go to Alto and enlist. There's a conscription board formed there, taking names and getting recruits." I drew on everything inside me to urge her to believe me, to trust me.

Understanding dawned on her face; she believed my lie. I cringed inside with the guilt of deceiving her. I knew I'd have to make it up to her someday.

"Oh, I see," she murmured, pursing her lips and nodding. "But Henry's younger than you are, Jas, isn't that bad?"

"Nah, his Pa will get over it. And Newt'll be there to look over him, I'm sure they'll get assigned to the same regiment or whatever. After all, his Pa's army too, he might end up re-joining as well. It's mainly their Ma that's upset about it, so they're trying to keep it from her as long as possible. They don't want to upset her since she's just now getting better again."

Ginny nodded again, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her thin little arms around them, resting her little pixie chin on them. She looked so tiny; I hated the idea of leaving her. But she'd be safe there, at home with Mother and Father, and I'd write her as often as possible, and come home again with all kinds of stories and presents for her, I promised myself.

Eventually we finished as much of our schoolwork as we could stomach, and Ginny gave me a little peck on the cheek as she left, heading for her room to dress for bed. I fervently hoped she wouldn't have another nightmare tonight, because sneaking out with her there wasn't easy. She had an uncanny sense of when something strange was going to happen, and seemed much older than her years sometimes.

"'Night, brother," she murmured, lingering in the doorway. The candle she held backlit her hair, turning it into a blazing tumble of gold. I tried to fix that image of her in my mind, to hold it with me in the times to come. "Sleep well."

"You too, sister." She smiled and disappeared into the dark hallway; I leaned back on my bed with my arms pillowing my head, and felt horrible.

Over and over again, I repeated to myself: _this is the right thing to do. I am doing the right thing_.

As much as my head agreed, my heart still quailed at the thought of what would happen in the morning, when it was discovered I was gone.

I waited until the house was silent and dark before lighting a single tiny candle. By the light of its flickering flame, I wrote the letters that I knew I had to leave for my family.

"Dear Mother and Father,

I'm sorry to be leaving this way, against your wishes and all. But I feel like this is what I have to do, as a man and as a Texan. Father, you raised me to believe in myself and act with honor, and I know that this is what I need to become the man you want me to be. Mother, I am so sorry to hurt you, but I promise I will come home to you, and will write to you as often as possible until I am safely home. Please pray for me, that I can comport myself as an honorable gentleman soldier, and carry out my mission with grace and courage.

Your loving son,

Jasper."

The next one was harder.

"Dear Ginny,

I know I lied to you about leaving you, and about what I was planning, but please believe me when I say it wasn't to hurt you. It hurt more than you can ever know. I am so sorry for that, but you have to understand that I feel like this is what I have to do, for myself, and to provide you with the kind of example of what a man should be. You are the best thing in my life, and I will come home to you and Mother and Father as soon as I've done my duty to God and Country, with my head held high. I promise I'll write you as often as I can. Please think of me and pray for me, Ginny, that it will be soon when I am able to hear your voice again. I love you very much, little sister.

Jasper."

I sealed them each up in an envelope and placed them on my desk, where Ginny would likely find them first thing in the morning. I cursed myself when my hand shook.

After that I blew out the candle and lay back down, fully clothed atop the bedclothes. It was impossible to sleep; I kept the time with the steady ticking of the grandfather clock down the hall, waiting for three o'clock.

Finally, the clock sounded out the chimes for the right time, the notes reaching like ghostly hands toward me. I rolled off the bed as carefully as possible, then went to the window and raised the pane with excruciating care not to let it squeal. Icy cold air crept in through the open window and enveloped me; I started shivering with the cold, and with nerves.

A few long minutes later, Henry's tousled russet head appeared over the edge of the frame, grinning merrily in the dark. He'd hauled himself up to the window by climbing the ivy trellis that ran up that side of the house.

"Ready, cousin?" he whispered carefully, reaching one hand inside to shake mine. I nodded silently, reaching underneath the bed to pull out my rucksack and good overcoat. Then I crept over the edge of the window, dropping down the several feet to the ground below.

We stole around the corner of the house to the horse barn, where I'd left my horse's saddle and tack concealed beneath a pile of hay. As quietly as possible, we saddled and mounted her, slipping out the back way and circling around through the stubbly spring fields, avoiding the hard-packed dirt of the main drive where the sound of her hooves might have woken someone.

The night was startlingly black, moonless, a million coldly twinkling stars scattered across the sky like diamonds in velvet. I threw my head back and inhaled the air, so chilly it burned my lungs, but it was a good feeling: the feeling of freedom, of adventure, searing down my throat and into my stomach. Urging me forward, to glory and adventure. Suddenly my fear evaporated like my clouds of steamy breath evaporated around me, and I smiled with excitement. Henry must've sensed it from behind me, because he started chuckling; we both laughed quietly as we slipped through the gate after picking up my stash of supplies at the storage shed.

The dusty open road beckoned us.

How I wished I'd looked back, at least once, to see my family's home silhouetted against the backdrop of the night. Now it's hard for me to remember what it looked like; I never saw it again.

Newt met up with us a few miles down the road, holding the reins to Henry's little sorrel mare, loaded down with his own supplies. "Well met, gentlemen, let's get on with it, then!" he called merrily, taking no care to lower his voice: after all, we were miles from anyone who might hear or care.

And so began my journey; my journey to manhood and patriotic glory, I thought. How very wrong I was.


	4. Chapter 4: Dead End

Chapter 4: Dead End

I was so tired I swayed in my saddle.

A cold blast of wind struck me square in the face, whipping the stench of death into my face; burning wood, blood, mud, gunpowder, human and animal filth, dirty wounds…it was all there, swirled into a cloud so thick you could almost see it. If I hadn't become accustomed to it, numbed to it by constant exposure over the past couple of days, it might have turned my stomach. As it was, I hadn't eaten in two days, so even if the smell had nauseated me…well, nothing would have come of it.

Overhead, crows and vultures circled, coasting on the thermal breezes as they surveyed the remains of the battlefield below, where there were easy pickings. Even now, four days after the battle, there were still unburied dead. The Union gravediggers weren't hurrying to bury our fallen men. The sounds of the birds calling above and the flies buzzing below were constant, mixed with the sounds of the scene stretched out below me.

I was perched up on a rocky ledge above Pittsburg Landing, which would later be called the Battle of Shiloh.

We had lost. Lost bad. The Union was advancing, crossing the Mississippi River. We'd failed.

Re-wrapping my reins around my numb knuckles, I shifted, squeezing Star's ribs with my knees. She obediently backed up a few steps, away from the edge of the gorge, and wheeled around to take me back into the cover of the trees. I'd been up there too long, taking a chance someone might spot me and send a reconnaissance party after us, to capture any Confederate fugitives. Such as us.

There were a few of us left over from our division, seventy-five men to be exact, camped along the little creek, under heavy tree cover about ten miles from the Fallen Timbers battlefield.

We'd been cut off from the main forces once Coronel Nathan Bedford Forrest had been wounded and everyone had scattered in retreat, confused and dejected by the realization of defeat. We'd seen one of the best military commanders on our side cut down like a dog (though he'd lived, we found out later), musket balls taking his horse out from under him, we'd seen so many men dying…

When the Union forces raised their flag of victory over the battlefield at Shiloh, we could do nothing but keep withdrawing into the cover of the trees, and try to keep from being captured, until we'd gathered enough strength to return west again and reunite with the rest of the Confederate Western Theater army.

Over twenty thousand men had died down there, I thought to myself sadly, letting Star have her head as we cantered through the dappled shadows beneath the towering oaks and maples. She knew where to go. Her hooves scattered showers of dead leaves, making crunching sounds as we went, but even those were quiet: she was a true war horse, careful in every step. Spring was late coming this year, as if even the seasons were hesitant to trespass on our bloody human affairs.

No battle on American soil had ever claimed so many lives, up until that point. I learned later that if you added up all the deaths from all the other wars (the Revolution, the War of 1812, the Mexican American…) the States had been involved in up until that date, April 6, 1862, you'd still have fewer deaths than the number that Shiloh claimed. Eventually the number of the fallen topped twenty-three thousand. So many souls perished.

The smell and taste of blood still stuck in the back of my throat and wouldn't go away.

It was almost a year since I'd left home in the pre-dawn darkness, supposedly bound for glory and points unknown.

Henry, Newt and I had gone off to Alto to enlist, full of jubilant high spirits at the prospect of being decorated war heroes.

How ignorant we'd been to what a man must do to become such a thing, a _war hero_.

After Alto and receiving some rudimentary basic training (although we were all already well-equipped by our fathers' lessons during childhood), we were sent back down to Houston, to join the Texas Brigade. There we'd run patrols and supervised raids on Union forces, gaining experience, Newt and I rising through the ranks steadily. He was just below me, both of us were due to be promoted soon. Eventually we were shipped East, to support General Albert Johnson's Confederate Army of the East's efforts to keep the Yankees from crossing the Mississippi River and gaining control of its valuable waterway and ports.

On April 6, 1862, the battle of Shiloh began. Pittsburg Landing and Shiloh are part of the little patch of fertile green land between the vital Tennessee and Cumberland Rivers in southwestern Tennessee, a beautiful place…or it had been before the battles began. Now nothing much remained except bloody, trampled ground and burned timber, the tents of the victorious soldiers and their picket lines, and the countless burial mounds of the dead. So many crosses, down there in the valley. Marking the graves. So many.

The battle itself was a blur to me. It had lasted for almost three days, during which I had been tossed to and fro in a melee of screams and gunshots and cannonfire. I'd behaved myself admirably well, I'd been told, earning a promotion to Captain when my commanding officer had been killed before my eyes. They call it a "battlefield commission." I was an officer now, although I didn't have the stripes to prove it. I'd had to take unofficial command of our camp, since no one else outranked me, except among the wounded.

I hadn't kept track of the number of men I'd killed. It wouldn't do anything except make me feel dirtier, to know my head count. My "butcher's bill," the more experienced men called it, with false bravado. Or at least I hoped it was false. I'd hate to think of anyone actually relishing the number of men they'd sent to meet their Maker.

I had been injured; I'd taken a bayonet stab to the right shoulder when I wasn't paying enough attention. It was bandaged up now, the dull ache of it throbbing with every beat of my heart and every movement of my horse, though it was getting better every day. I'd been lucky, though: I'd lost many friends during that battle, and some that had actually survived would never be the same again, missing hands or feet or sometimes entire limbs. Even those who didn't take wounds to their bodies would always carry the wounds that were indelibly carved into their minds. So much death and destruction, and not all of it physical.

I'd declined to be seen by the field surgeon when we'd finally found decent cover after retreating. Battlefield medicine back then was brutal: if you were shot, they would pull out the musket balls with metal tongs and cauterize the wound with a hot iron and wash it with whiskey; deep wounds, such as from bayonets or knives, got the same attention, sometimes with a few coarse stitches thrown in for good measure if the surgeon had a needle and twine handy. Woe unto the poor soldier who developed an infection, for his sentence was the cleaver and saw, with a healthy shot of whiskey and a leather strap to bite down on as the surgeon took off the dead appendage. Usually that surgeon had nothing to qualify him but a stint as a barber or dentist back home, and no formal schooling.

Nothing was washed or sterilized, as there was no real concept of germs or sanitation; antibiotics weren't known back then, and painkillers and sedatives were barely used, except in surgical theaters in fancy hospitals back east. Death came quickly for the badly injured. The tally of those who died at Shiloh grew steadily even after the battle had officially ended.

I absently rubbed the lumpy bandage on my shoulder, once again sending a grateful prayer heavenward for not having anything worse than a flesh wound. Terrified of infection, I'd scrubbed it well with soap and brandy right after the battle, once I'd gotten my senses back. I'd remembered Mama Dina's admonitions to me from when I was a child about cleanliness, and had bound it well with a boiled cloth, washing it and the wound several times a day for good measure. I'd watched the puckered edges of the stab wound anxiously for signs of redness and inflammation, or for the dreaded sick smell of gangrene, but it never came. It was healing now. I had escaped, and was eternally grateful for my luck.

I still carry that scar, although it is much fainter than the other scars I bear.

I'd reached the edge of camp; sliding down from the saddle, I handed the reins to a bewildered-looking boy in a dirty gray uniform that didn't fit. I glanced at him, trying to remember his name and coming up empty-handed. I hated not remembering, it seemed to cheapen the poor kid's sacrifices in being there. _Ah!_

"Take care of her… Wesley. Rub her down well with a good dry cloth." I patted his head reassuringly. He stared up at me in something like awe, swallowing hard, his Adam's apple bouncing in his skinny throat. "It's cold up on the ridge, and she sweated a bit coming down. Don't want her to get colicky in the night."

Young Wesley nodded jerkily and led Star off toward the makeshift stable we'd erected at the back of the encampment. I watched him go for a moment, wondering how old he was. Sixteen? Maybe? Hardly. More like fourteen. He'd probably done as I'd done, lying to the enlistment committee…and they'd known he was lying, and still allowed him to sign his young life away.

How amazing that I was only a few years older, perhaps, but I felt like such an old man.

I sighed, turning toward the camp, looking for Henry.

I found him by a cook-fire, drinking soup from a tin cup, slumped down on top of a split log that served for a bench. Wordlessly, he leaned forward and ladled more soup from the cast-iron pot slung over the little fire, handing it up to me.

The soup was watery and of indistinct origin, but I didn't care: it was something to put in my stomach. I chugged it down in a few gulps, not caring that it burned the inside of my throat, slouching down onto the log next to him, my stomach groaning its thanks. The pain in my throat and in my shoulder made me feel alive again, if only a little bit.

The grubby-aproned cook handed me another cup, this one full of bitter, boiling-hot coffee, which I sipped on more carefully in relief. Having something warm in the belly felt good. After a long, quiet moment, Henry finally spoke.

"See anything new down there? Any sign of what's goin' to happen?"

He'd changed in the time we'd been away from home. He'd gotten a bit taller, though he'd never come higher than my shoulder; his voice had deepened, his chest broadened, his arms thickening with muscle—he could wrestle almost anyone to the ground in moments. His merry eyes grew more serious. He laughed a bit less, spoke a bit more slowly and carefully. Watched things more. He wasn't the high-spirited, easy-going kid he'd been before, although those things still slept inside him, I was sure, dormant but not dead. He was like me, now—the burdens of responsibility, and having seen and done things you regret and despise, tend to change a man. But he was still my best friend.

"No, nothing new," I replied, taking another sip of the scalding coffee. It tasted like the inside of a boot, but who could complain? "The Yanks're cleaning up, sending the prisoners back East, burying the dead. I saw a few couriers come and go, but no way I can tell what orders or news they brought or carried away."

Henry grunted in agreement, tossing his cup across the fire into a waiting dishpan; the cook dodged the splash of dirty water with a faint curse. "I 'spect we'll hear something from back West soon, our runners had to've made it back to Corinth by now and're on the way back. Surely we'll have a message soon, to tell us what to do now."

I nodded silently, knowing he was right. We'd been lying low in the forest for the last two days, afraid to move in the chance of being caught and taken prisoner like so many others had. We hadn't been part of the contingent that actually surrendered to General Grant's Union forces, so we weren't honor-bound to follow our comrades into chains.

We wanted to get back West again, to fight again. Although I really didn't know why I would want to go through that again; it was more like I felt that I had loose ends to tie up. Things didn't feel settled. So we had sent runners back down the road to Corinth, Mississippi, where there was a small Confederate outpost, and someone who could receive our news and give us new orders.

There was a commotion behind us, the sound of horses' hooves, galloping, and the cries of men. Henry and I leaped up, hands slapping to our hips where our revolvers were strapped, looking around wildly for signs of some enemy attack. Had we been discovered? Had the Union trackers found us?

As if in response to our conversation, it was one of our messengers, returned. Poor man, his horse was lathered and sweating from having been ridden so hard, and he was all scratched from riding full-pelt through the forest, his grey uniform in disarray. Henry and I exchanged a bemused glance and strode over toward the rider, both of us keen to hear what news the man brought.

I glanced around, searching for anyone that might outrank me to take the man's report, and seeing no one I held out my hand for the messenger bag the soldier had slung around one stupid of me: I knew I was the senior officer now, but hated to admit it to myself.

He handed it to me gladly; he'd probably had to dodge Union patrols the entire way to and back from Corinth. A messenger's main job is to get the message into the right hands—and to avoid letting it fall into the wrong ones. They are separate and equally important issues.

I unwrapped the cord tying the pouch closed and reached inside; there were two wax-sealed packets, both addressed to…_me? _I stared down at them for a moment, then glanced around again to see who was watching, feeling self-conscious. The fact that I was now the senior officer in the encampment suddenly struck me again. I had to stop pretending everyone was obeying my commands just because they made sense. I had a job to do.

One packet was the orders for the remnants of the regiment; it was thicker, giving detailed instructions for how the soldiers should proceed to Corinth and beyond. I handed it off to the camp foreman, who would ensure the instructions were followed as quickly and closely as possible.

The other packet was for me alone. I saw my hands tremble shamefully as I broke the seal.

"**It has come to our attention that you, sir, have shown great bravery and leadership ability in the face of duty. You have been reported by previous superior officers as being an exemplary gentleman soldier, displaying great prowess and skill on the field of battle, as well as excellent diplomatic and delegation skills amongst your peers. In recognition of these qualities, you are hereby promoted to the rank of Major in the Army of the Confederate States of America, and shall receive all the benefits such position entails. You are instructed to present yourself at the mustering office in Galveston, Texas as soon as possible to receive your commission and assume new responsibilities. Deliver your men to the station in Corinth, Mississippi, and then proceed forthwith with all possible speed to Galveston, after selecting your personal staff to accompany you. You may requisition fresh horses, arms, munitions, and supplies at Corinth for your journey. You shall be expected prior to June 1, in the Year of Our Lord 1862. Regards, Brigadier General John Bell Hood, Texas Brigade, Army of the Confederate States of America."**

The paper almost dropped from my shock-numbed fingers.

Henry must've realized something unusual had happened and snatched it from my hand, skimming over the words, a huge grin spreading across his face. He clapped me on the shoulder so hard it almost knocked me over. "Well, Jasper, it seems we're going back home!" he crowed, shoving the orders letter into my jacket pocket. "Shall I tell Newt to get himself ready, too?"

I stared at him in bewilderment. I was still dazed at the idea of having been made an officer, and it hadn't really dawned on me that I would be going back to Texas. "What do you mean, _we?_" I finally managed, my tongue feeling thick.

He rolled his eyes, stabbing a finger at the pocket where the letter seemed to be burning a hole into my thigh. "Aw, don't even try to tell me you aren't goin' to take me along, General Hood said himself you could choose a staff to bring!" He grinned even bigger, slapping his chest proudly. "Imagine, me personal Adjutant to the youngest Confederate Major in the Army!" He almost fell down with the force of his laughter.

I realized he was right. Who else would I take with me, besides him and Newt? My two closest friends, my two most reliable soldiers? I nodded, my mind racing. Would I have time to run home before reporting to Galveston? I wanted to see my family so badly, especially Ginny…

_Ginny_. I winced at the thought of her. She was furious with me, furious and hurt, I could tell—even in a letter written in her small, neat script with beautiful sentiments and not a single angry word, her feelings fairly shouted themselves at me, strafing me like poisoned darts. I knew her well enough to know that her written words weren't the ones that mattered. I'd wounded her terribly.

I'd received several letters from her, as well as from Mother and Father. As Newt and Henry had predicted, Father got past his anger quickly, but Mother was very upset, and wouldn't forgive me until I was safely home again.

_God, please let me be able to fulfill that wish for her_, I thought, staring upward into the deepening blue sky, pleading. _And please let Ginny forgive me. Someday._

_But will I?? _I shook my head savagely, trying not to listen to that dark, heavy thought. It always came.

All around me the camp was beginning to bustle with excited energy as the camp foreman cursed and pushed and shouted at the men to get themselves up and prepared. We would strike out at dawn, marching through the forest to keep ourselves concealed, to report to Corinth.

And there I would begin the next phase of my journey.

It was a long, exhausting two-day march from the camp in the woods to Corinth.

We had to ride as furtively as possible, to avoid the Union scouts which were still scouring the roads for Confederate stragglers and escaped prisoners. They had rounded up as many prisoners as possible to ship back East, where they were used to construct barracks and dig ditches and the like, treating the soldiers like slaves. All of my men wished to avoid such a fate, so they were being very careful. I had hardly needed to admonish them to secure their jingling reins and bits.

We had arisen before dawn, to a leaden sky promising rain. Breaking camp only took a few minutes, since most tasks had been completed the night before; we were a good mile from our original camp before the sun made its first wan appearance. Shortly after that, the rain began, a cold, soaking downpour that didn't let up all day, continuing into the night.

We made a miserable camp that evening, not able to light any campfires to cook with; I chewed on a piece of leather-like jerky and rolled myself up in my oiled slicker, trying to keep dry as best as I could. No one slept well that night; we all awoke the next morning still exhausted, soaked to the bone, and set out again before the sun rose. I prayed that none of the men would fall sick after having spent the night sleeping in the mud: that was all we needed, an outbreak of some plague.

The rain finally ceased around midday; we didn't stop to enjoy the brief appearance of the sun, but kept slogging on through the mud, determined to cover as much ground as possible before nightfall. My men deserved to get to decent barracks as soon as possible, I told myself, and they agreed with me when I urged them all to stay strong and press on. I was so very proud of them for not complaining or shirking.

Finally, shortly before sunset on the second day we made it to Corinth. It was like coming home again.

It wasn't a large town, although the presence of a garrison of the Army billeted there more than doubled the local population and enriched the residents that catered to the soldiers' needs. As we trooped down the main street, I tried to look something like the officer I now was; I straightened my coat and stiffened my back, holding myself as upright as possible in the saddle, even though I was bone-weary and as bedraggled as a wet cat. We all were.

The Colonel in charge of the Corinth garrison received us gravely, nodding at my men and then clasping my hand firmly in a gentleman's handshake.

"Glad to meet you, Major Whitlock. We heard much about you from the messenger you sent." He was dressed immaculately, his lavish mustaches waxed and curving according to the prevailing fashion of the day. He bowed his head momentarily in salute to me.

Again, I was surprised by his tribute. But I couldn't let the older man see me discomfited.

"Reporting as ordered, Colonel." I glanced over my shoulder at my men, who had all dismounted. Even as exhausted as they were, they all stood at attention, waiting for my orders. Again, pride in them swelled up in me, and it helped to strengthen my own resolve to cover my weaknesses. "I have seventy-five fine men to present to you, Sir."

His eyes flickered over them, his eyes crinkling a bit at the corners as a faint smile crossed his face. "Looks like they could all use a good bath and clean uniforms, Major," he said dryly.

I nodded. I knew my men looked terribly beaten-down and ragged, but I had to defend them, even if it meant problems with this man.

"Yes, Sir. We've marched the past two days through the woods in the rain, from before sunup to after sundown, on nothing but cold water and trail rations. And before that, we were camped in the woods for four days after the battle, trying to keep under cover as much as possible. My men have served well and hard, and should be allowed a bit of comfort, if you please, Sir." I hoped I hadn't crossed a line with the man; often, rank was conferred on men who didn't deserve it, I'd seen.

The Colonel chuckled, nodding with me. His eyes crinkled even more as the slight smile broadened into a grin. "Of course, Major. Just observing, that's all. We're all proud of the showing you men made at Shiloh." He looked back toward the outpost over his shoulder, motioning for his assistant, who jogged forward expectantly. "Mr. Thomas, please show Major Whitlock to the officer's quarters, and make sure he's provided with everything he needs. And send Mr. Porter to show Major Whitlock's men to the enlisted quarters immediately, making sure they receive proper new uniforms and all other necessities."

Even though I felt I might faint with exhaustion, I made sure that my men were on their way to being taken care of before I would allow Mr. Thomas to take me anywhere. The first rule of being a good officer, my father had told me, is to ensure your men are comfortable before you are—otherwise, you don't deserve to lead them.

Being able to take a hot bath was a rapturous experience. Even if it was in a cramped tin tub in a drafty tent. I actually fell asleep in the tub, waking up abruptly, the water icy-cold around me.

After my bath the Colonel's assistant provided me with a fresh uniform and led me to the officers' mess hall, where I was able to eat the first true hot meal I'd had in over a month. Beans, cornbread, salt pork, potatoes, Johnny cake. Delicious. With a belly full of food, my body and clothes clean, I felt my exhaustion bearing down on me like an enemy cavalry charge; but I couldn't rest yet.

Wearily, I pulled on my freshly-polished boots and overcoat, heading out of my tent to see what was happening with my men.

I found them all in good spirits, bathed and clothed and fed as I had been, preparing to bed down for the night. I checked on the wounded men who had been sent to the garrison hospital, going to each man and having a word with them to assure myself that they were well-treated. My feelings of pride and accomplishment returned as I talked to them, and I felt the men's happiness as well; they were glad to be away from the battle, away from the dismal camp in the woods, and were happy with me, who had led them. I didn't know what to do with that pride; it felt almost shameful to even acknowledge it.

I found Henry and Newt in their tent. Newt was squatted on the floor blacking his boots; Henry lounged on his cot, one arm thrown across his face to cover his eyes. He was snoring a bit.

I glanced around the tent and found one of Henry's discarded (and unpolished) boots by the door; I pegged him in the chest with it. Henry shot up from the cot like he'd been struck by lightning, eyes wide and wild.

"Wha--!"

Newt and I fairly collapsed with laughter; Henry's long-john pajamas gaped open until he managed to secure them. I laughed until tears streamed from my eyes…then I remembered my new rank, and sobered myself up as quickly as possible.

It made me a bit sad, knowing that now there would have to be a degree of separation between me and my friends: officers and enlisted men aren't supposed to fraternize too much. Hopefully they would get an officer's commission soon, as well: both were excellent soldiers, and the chaotic state of the Confederate Army was conducive to quick promotions—as was proven by my own new status.

Henry slumped back down onto the bed, shaking his head, tugging at his pajamas.

"I swear, Jasper Whitlock, if you didn't outrank me…." His threat tapered off impotently, then he met my eye, his broad, freckled face disrespectful. "So, when do we take off_, Sir?_"

I rolled my eyes in exasperation. "No 'sirring' me except in public, Henry." I had to make sure he knew our friendship would never end just because I'd been promoted. "Anyway, we're due out of here tomorrow morning. We're accompanying a supply caravan bound for Memphis, then we'll catch a ferry down the Mississippi to New Orleans, then cross overland to Texas." I sighed. "We should be to Galveston inside a month. Early." I picked up the boot I'd thrown at him and started blacking it. Newt smiled down at his own boot, quiet as always.

Henry stared at me, stupefied. "What, we're not going to skip over to see our folks? We have almost a month to spare! They said June! It's barely April!"

I shook my head sadly. I'd thought and rethought that issue over countless times during the evening, trying to make a good, responsible decision. "Sorry, Henry, it's not authorized. I'm supposed to get to Galveston as soon as possible. June is the deadline. I can't push it. Sorry."

He spit on the ground, looking disgusted.

I was suddenly angry, catching his mood.

Did he think I didn't want to see my family? Did he think it was easy for me, to behave in a proper fashion? He had no idea how hard that was for me, to deliberately cut such a tempting idea out of my mind: I wanted to see Mother and Father and Ginny more than anything. I longed to eat Mama Dina's cooking again. I wanted to lie in my own bed, to fall asleep to the sound of the cicadas in the trees and the wind whispering through the tall grass, to be able to sit by the creek again with my little sister and know she wasn't angry or sad anymore.

Henry must've sensed something of my mood, because his face grew a bit fearful; he ducked his head. "Sorry, Jasper," he whispered. "I just thought…"

"Well, you thought wrong!" I bit off every word angrily. "Henry, is this going to be a problem between us? Should I choose someone else to come with me to Galveston? I don't want to hurt our friendship, or damage either one of us's career."

His eyes widened. "No, no, Jasper, I didn't mean it like that. I…Well, I was just disappointed." He flushed. "It's just that it's only a few days' ride from Galveston to Alto…I wanted to see Ma." His voice trailed off, unspoken tears choking his voice.

I felt ashamed, remembering that the last letter Henry and Newt had received from their father had mentioned that their mother's health had declined again. The doctors didn't expect her to survive the winter. I struggled to find something to say, to do. I couldn't hurt my friend like that.

"Well, once we're to Galveston, I'll see what I can do about getting you a short leave, all right, boys?" I directed my statement at them both: Newt was listening intently, although his face would never betray his feelings like Henry's had. He looked down at the already-immaculate boots and smiled gently.

They both nodded, relieved.

"Now." I rubbed my palms together, then reached into my pocket and pulling something out. "Who's up for a game of poker?" I brandished the cards, grinning.

The tension melted immediately, both men grinning. "Well, that's more like it!" Henry crowed, flopping down on his cot again. "Deal me in!"

As tired as I was, the good mood and good companionship buoyed me until almost midnight. I lost every round except the last one on purpose, letting them good-naturedly make fun of me. Finally, I tore myself away, my yawns about to crack my face in two, and managed to stagger my way to my tent, to my own waiting cot.

I drifted to sleep in that strange tent, seeing Ginny's sad little face in my mind.

We struck out for Memphis the next day, escorting the supply caravan. Although Henry and Newt had both requisitioned new horses, I stuck with my faithful Star: she was my link to home. I'd never trade her in, to not know who would get her, whether they would care for her. I'd broken the horse in my Father's stable yard, trained her to saddle and bridle with my own hands: she was like my right arm now.

It was an easy journey, down a well-traveled highway. We were now in completely Confederate-held territory, and had no more fears of Union scouts, although we did keep our eyes open for anything unusual. Since Sherman's victory at Shiloh, he was sure to push Westward soon, using the newly-captured Columbia and Tennessee Rivers to advance his soldiers faster than foot or horse could travel.

We reached Memphis in a week, and there boarded a ferry downstream.

I'd never been on a riverboat before, and found it fascinating, to watch the muddy banks drift by. I spent the week on that boat in something close to leisure: there isn't much for a soldier to do while on a boat. I played a lot of cards with Newt and Henry and a few of the other men, and spent some time with the steamboat captain, learning about how the boats were built and managed. I had always liked to learn, and at least that kept me from brooding about home, about my parents and Ginny. About the future.

We'd been told in Memphis that there were rumors the Union Navy was going to try to blockade Galveston Harbor, and to try to capture the city itself. Galveston, which possesses the best deep-water port on the entire Texas coastline, is a vital part of the Western economy: all kinds of goods passed in and out of that city's harbor, from all over the Western states. If the harbor and city fell into enemy hands, the Confederacy might well be crippled by the blow to its financial health.

I also couldn't bear the thought of Union soldiers so close to home.

I'd seen what the marauding Union army had done in the South, before Shiloh. I'd seen plantations destroyed, whole towns devastated. Crops and farms burned to the ground. Women raped. Men murdered. The idea of the enemy occupying a city in my homeland, with the potential to spread out and perhaps come upon my birthplace, upon my family, upon my mother and sister, to destroy what my father had worked so hard to build…The patriotic zeal that had possessed me so mindlessly when I ran away to join the army was being stoked anew by the fires of my fear, but tempered by my experiences. I wasn't bloodthirsty; I was anxious to do my part to keep the enemy from my home. Unfortunately, killing was part of what was necessary to do.

When we docked in New Orleans, we were thoroughly glad to be off the boat. We staggered ashore, leading our horses, our legs unsteady on dry land again after a week on the water. Laughing, we checked in with the garrison commander there, leaving our horses and supplies in the quarters that were assigned to us, venturing into the city to explore a bit.

New Orleans in 1862 was lovely. Many of the old French-style buildings that were there back then are still standing now. The people were a stunning mixture of all races and societal strata; I saw some of the most breathtaking women, Creole beauties, leaning from their windows in the Red Light District, calling out to the soldiers below in their French-accented English, inviting us up to drink a tiny cup of chicory coffee with them, and who knew what else might happen…

I had to drag Newt and Henry out of there almost by their ears.

We'd received some disturbing news from the garrison commander: New Orleans was about to be surrendered to the Union.

The Union Navy had already taken over two of the major forts south of New Orleans, Fort Jackson and St. Philip, and Union Flag Officer Farragut had managed to send thirteen ships upriver, toward New Orleans just two days before. Mortar boats and gunships, they would easily overtake New Orleans, which had absolutely no fortifications, and only a small garrison remaining to defend it. The Union was going to succeed in taking over the Mississippi. Since there were no soldiers to spare, it had been decided to allow the Union forces to overtake the city, to avoid needless waste of life; it was expected that the Union forces would be to New Orleans by April 28…which was the next day.

We'd been advised by the commander to enjoy our evening, and then get ourselves out of the city the next day. It wasn't advisable to be a Confederate in New Orleans after the Union had taken possession.

We enjoyed a bit of music in a French Quarter café, where the colored men and women played and sang magnificently in French and the strange mixture of English, French, and Spanish which is Creole. I ate alligator tail etoufee and drank a Sazerac cocktail, the oldest mixed drink in the Americas: a heady mixture of Cognac, absinthe, rye whiskey, bitters, and sugar syrup. We listened and ate and drank til well after midnight, and even danced a little with some of those lovely Creole girls. One tall, dusky beauty reminded me of Mama Dina, with her almond-shaped eyes and wide cheekbones, and it gave me a pang of homesickness so vivid I lost all the enthusiasm I'd had for our night on the town.

"Let's get back to camp, boys, it's getting late," I said to them, trying to be heard over the roar of the crowd. There were far too many empty glasses on our table for my comfort. I wondered if they had money to pay for all those drinks.

After settling our tab (for which I had to pay much more than I should have), we managed to escape into the cool, sweet evening.

Henry had had a few too many, and had to be carried back to our barracks. I had stopped myself at one, although I found the drink and the surroundings very pleasant…but an officer must try to keep his head at all times. Newt and I slung Henry between us, his arms draped across our shoulders; we staggered along the cobblestone streets, heading toward the garrison quarters, but it was hard to find in the unfamiliar city.

"Hey, Jas, d'you think we'll ever make it home?" Henry slurred, rolling his face toward me. His breath stank of whiskey; I turned my face away, my stomach turning. "No, really! Do you?" he demanded, his fingers digging into the side of my neck.

I shook my head at his nonsense, trying to concentrate on the road, looking for anything familiar.

"What are you talking about, Henry?" Newt muttered, hitching Henry's arm a bit more firmly around his own neck, trying to take some of his brother's weight off me. "Shut up now, you drunk fool."

Henry's glazed eyes locked on me. "Jasper knows what I mean. He ain't ever goin' home again. Are you, Jas?"

His words made my blood run cold. I stopped in the middle of the street, letting him go. He slumped to the ground, a boneless puddle on the cobblestones, laughing drunkenly.

"What on earth do you mean by that, Henry?" I hissed.

But he was right.

In all this time, being away from home, enduring the trials and tribulations of a soldier's life, passing my trial by fire through the heat of battle, I'd always cherished the thoughts of home, of being able to return again, take up my father's duties, guide the family dynasty until my own old age, to eventually pass to my own sons, someday.

But somehow, deep inside, I had a feeling I never would be able to go home again.

I'd chalked it up to homesickness, to the grim hopelessness that grips every fighting man, to pessimism. I'd mentioned it once to Henry, the night after the Shiloh battle, both of us delirious with fear and exhaustion after the frenzied days of bloody fighting we'd endured.

He'd laughed at me with his usual lighthearted way, telling me to shut up, I was being a ninny. And I had, because I wanted to believe I was a ninny, that of course I would see my loved ones again.

But I still had that strange, dark feeling inside me. And that feeling was a whole lot like a certainty.

Henry looked up at me blearily, not smiling. "Jasper, you're a strange egg, you know?" he mumbled. Newt sighed in exasperation, reaching down to take his brother's arm; Henry shook him off angrily, his gaze sliding back to me again. I couldn't shake his eyes; I stared at him, mesmerized.

"You've always been strange, Jasper Whitlock. Always. Since you was a kid, you was always more inside your head than outside it, always thinkin', always readin'. I wasn't jealous, I mean, you're a good frien', and I love you like a brother, but…" he trailed off, searching for words. "You're just not like me. Like us. You're different."

I shook my head wordlessly, not knowing what to say.

"Aw, shut up you stupid kid," Newt growled, finally managing to get ahold of Henry's arm, yanking him up to drape the arm over his own shoulder again. He waved me off when I tried to step over to help him.

Henry grinned. "Jasper's got somethin' goin' on inside him, Newt, he's different than us, you know it, and I know you know it!" He laughed, hiccupping. "He tol' me one night he didn't think he was goin' home, that somethin's goin' to happen to him…and I believe him. He's always figurin' out what everyone's feelin', and makin' it right…"

My heart skipped a beat. I thought about my unusual way of handling people, the way I could urge them to feel the way I wanted them to, sometimes. Had Henry really noticed it? I couldn't remember ever telling him about it; perhaps the absinthe in our drinks had done something to our minds?

Then Henry started vomiting up those drinks…and everything south of his collar. Apparently even his boots. And the mood shifted abruptly from strange to disgustedly humorous.

Newt and I collapsed in laughter on the side of the road, letting Henry get himself under control. We listened to his retching and cursing, every few minutes breaking into new peals of laughter at his misery. By the time he'd managed to compose himself, Henry had long forgotten his bizarre, prophetic mumblings, and allowed us to take him back to the barracks with nothing more than a series of long, foul-breathed and rambling apologies for his behavior.

That night, I lay awake on my cot until the sun rose.

Even as tired as I was, I couldn't sleep. I kept on remembering Henry's words.

"_He tol' me one night he didn't think he was goin' home, that somethin's goin' to happen to him…and I believe him."_

Was it right? Was this dark, heavy feeling, this near-certainty, that I wasn't going home again, true?

"… _he's different than us, you know it… He's always figurin' out what everyone's feelin', and makin' it right…"_

He knew me, probably better than I knew myself, based on those words. Was I so transparent? I'd never imagined he had ever picked up on anything; Henry was so very open and honest, unapologetically so, and very straightforward. I'd have thought if he'd had any suspicions about anything different about me, he would've told me about it long ago.

Perhaps he hadn't said anything because he didn't need to. He knew I was different, and it didn't need to be discussed.

Ginny's face swam before me in the darkness of the insides of my eyelids.

He little pixie face was drawn and pale, like she was sick. Her big blue eyes were red from weeping. Her golden hair was all messy, like she'd been tossing and turning in her sleep. I saw her, laying in my bed back home, her nightgown all knotted and twisted from her thrashings as she dreamed her strange dreams. I heard her talk in her sleep, whispering to someone. Begging them to tell her about where I was, if I was all right. When I would come home.

And they didn't tell her.

_I'm never going home again._

I fought against that thought fiercely, my breath coming more rapidly as my heart pounded inside me, like I was running a race against something. Against myself.

The next day dawned clear and bright. New Orleans lay breathless in anticipation of the battle to come beneath a pale blue, cloudless sky.

I stood on a little rise a few miles from the city, clutching Star's reins. Henry and Newt still sat their horses, although Henry's posture in his saddle was more of a slump…the Absinthe Green Fairy had left him half-dead this morning. I'd had to literally kick him out of his cot, to get him moving.

I pulled my spyglass from my jacket pocket and trained it on the mouth of the harbor, several miles distant. There was a smudge there on the horizon: the smoke from an inbound steamship, probably the first of the Union mortar boats. Union Navy Flagman Farragut was steaming directly for New Orleans, his boat low in the water, weighed down by the amount of munitions she carried: there would be no quarter today. The Union meant to take New Orleans, and the Confederacy meant to give it up, after some kind of agreement had been made, to preserve thousands of innocent lives.

It still smelled a bit too much like cowardice to me. But I also remembered Shiloh, and wondered, if perhaps they were doing the best thing to surrender the city, to save so many people.

Down below, I could see the lines of fleeing civilians, streaming into the green, swampy mainland, abandoning New Orleans in case the Union boats decided to start pounding the city anyway. They looked like ants, trooping black and anonymous across the landscape. I sighed. How many times would I see this? See destruction and death, and the innocent losing their homes and livelihoods and lives?

Finally, I had to tear my eyes away from it all and turn back to Henry and Newt, who squinted at me from beneath the brims of their hats, trying to avoid the morning sunlight. Although Henry was much the worse for wear from the night before's events, Newt also looked a bit green around the eyes as well. I smiled crookedly. "Ready, boys?"

They nodded, and I swung myself up into the saddle, clucking the reins and tapping Star's barrel with my heels. She wheeled obediently, and I led my companions down off the rise, into the waiting scrubby forest. Next stop: Galveston.

Behind us, as we descended into the trees, I heard the first sounds of the explosions.

They'd decided to bombard the city after all.

It was a long, miserable, and relatively uneventful trip down to Galveston, although the knowledge that we'd left a battle behind us in New Orleans made all three of us antsy. It felt dishonorable, having deserted New Orleans so thoroughly; but we had our orders, and must follow them. And regardless of any desire to help, three men couldn't have made any difference in the taking of a city that had already been surrendered in everything but name.

The swampy territory between New Orleans and Galveston was a sticky, difficult mess. We stuck to the roads when we could, but since there weren't many of those in the first place, we had to do the best we could. Spring flooding had rendered some roads impossible, which made us have to do a lot of backtracking and fording of swollen rivers and streams, navigating through the forests with compass and map.

We mainly stuck to the coast, since it was the easiest way to keep from getting lost. Back then, there was no really easy overland way to get to Galveston—if there hadn't been a war on, and the Gulf swarming with Union ships, we might've been able to catch a ride on a freighter or a ferry. But no Rebel man in his right mind dared to venture out to sea at that time, the Confederate Navy was in dismal disarray, and offered no one much defense from anything. Many times we thought to commandeer a little punt or dinghy to make things easier, but then the sight of a Union patrol boat slinking along the coast ahead would make us change our minds and head back into the swampy palmettos and cypresses.

It was tiresome, slogging through the mushy forests that lined the coast. They called them" bayous", a corruption of a French word, meaning "low place," and the description fit. Although dizzyingly green and lush after the dryness of East Texas, I got tired of it real fast. Every night I had to carefully dry off Star's hooves, and find her and the other horses the driest places to stand, lest they get hoof rot and go lame. I couldn't bear the thought of having to put her down, but one had no choice but that with a lame horse back then.

Many a night we slept by a smoky little campfire, smoky because we fed it green pine boughs to keep the clouds of buzzing, biting mosquitoes and midges away. We'd eat our beans and jerky below the glittering canopy of stars, our aching feet stretched out before us, and we told stories. Stories of back home, stories we'd heard from the other men we'd met, stories of the things we'd seen and done since we left home. Even though it made my homesickness swell up inside me, it was still comforting to talk about home, to think about it.

I would drift to sleep, my cap pulled down over my eyes, my fingertips against the barrel of my musket, just in case a raiding party of disgruntled Indians or swamp robbers or even a stray Union patrol managed to disturb our rest. Then we'd wake the next morning, stretch our muscles that had been stiffened with sleeping so many nights on the ground, and start it all over again.

The journey from New Orleans is almost 400 miles as the crow flies, but if you add in all the twisting and turnings of the coastline, it's much longer than that. However, since we were a small party, we made it in decent time: we arrived in Galveston on July 1, 1862. A month late.

We must've been a sight, trudging into town, leading our horses. Although we'd requisitioned new uniforms in Corinth, by the time we checked in with the garrison in Galveston, our gray coats and trousers had become stained and threadbare, our boots were falling apart and spattered with mud, and we all needed a good shave and haircut.

The corporal in the staff office looked up at me from his desk full of papers, his eyebrows climbing his forehead in surprise. An officious-looking young man who had surely never seen a battle, he blinked rapidly for a moment, his eyes roving over my clothes, his mouth pursing a bit in disapproval.

"Orders…soldier?" he finally asked, holding out one hand—a soft hand, uncalloused, surely a hand that had never held a weapon for anything other than drill practice.

I pulled my wax-sealed orders from my belt pouch, handing it to the office man without expression.

He scanned it for a moment, and his eyebrows continued their upward climb, until it seemed they'd meet his hairline. He looked back up at me and stared, then belatedly jumped to his feet and jerked a sloppy salute.

"Begging your pardon, Major Whitlock, we've been waiting for you!" he said, handing me back the orders.

I shook my head wearily. "At ease…" I looked over his few pins and bars and patches, to figure out his rank. "…Corporal…"

"Tidwell, Major Whitlock. Percy Tidwell," he supplied helpfully. "I'm first assistant to Quartermaster Sergeant Davis, sir." He bobbed nervously in place.

I nodded, waving him down into his chair. "Well, Corporal Tidwell, my men and I have arrived as instructed, but we're a month late. We had to go along the coast, and the roads were awful where there were roads—we had to evade Union patrols boats the entire way." I pulled my gloves off one finger at a time, then stuffed them into my belt, cracking my knuckles. "Who do we report to, Corporal?"

He licked his lips nervously, shuffling some papers on his desk. "Well, sir, I mean, Major, normally I'd send you directly over to General Hood, but he's in Houston right now…Colonel Cook is here, he's in charge while General Hood's away, but he's out on inspection patrol, checking out Fort Point on Pelican Island…He's due to be back…" Tidwell squinted at a paper, "…tomorrow. I think." He began to sweat.

I took a deep breath, exhaled, closed my eyes. Had to keep calm. No use in making the poor little fellow wet himself. I didn't like to yell anyway.

"So, Corporal, who is in charge while Colonel Cook is away?"

Tidwell blinked. "Um…Sergeant Major Wesley, sir? I mean, Major?"

"And were might I find him, to receive my orders, Corporal Tidwell?"

He jerked his head back and forth, looking from me to the window and back again a few times, as if waiting for some sign from outside as to what to do. "Well, I don't exactly know, Major Whitlock…he doesn't check in with _me_…" He trailed off, staring up at me.

I did everything in my power to calm the man down before he had a coronary. He was just a kid, younger than me, although not much younger—perhaps he hadn't had the benefits of the kind of father I'd had, or the kind of experience I'd gained in the past year. I silently begged him to stop sweating. It was beginning to soak through his uniform.

"All right, Corporal Tidwell, I am going to go ask outside where Sergeant Major Wesley is, all right? And while I am doing so, would you please be so kind as to speak to your Quartermaster Sergeant and procure lodgings, new uniforms, munitions, and all other supplies for myself and my men? I have a staff of two, they're waiting outside." I kept my voice even and friendly, even smiled a little at him. It was hard to do, but I managed.

He about passed out from relief. I wondered briefly if he was accustomed to being screamed at by some incompetent superior who had no idea how to manage men.

"B-but of course, Major, right away!" he sputtered, jumping to his feet and coming around his desk to hold the door open for me. I exited the building and he followed me out.

Newt and Henry lounged against the hitching post, Henry whistling and cleaning beneath his fingernails with his pocketknife, Newt checking his horse's hooves. They both straightened when Tidwell and I came out, Henry grinning at the little man's obvious stress.

"Boys, you go with Corporal Tidwell here, he'll get us billeted up right," I said, slapping Tidwell heartily on the shoulder.

He almost fell over.

Henry and Newt both burst out laughing, then straightened as fast as they could when they caught my glare, although Henry's face flushed red with the effort to keep his guffaws from escaping. It wouldn't do to make Tidwell any more nervous than he already was.

"Here, Henry, take Star with you. Make sure she gets a good rubdown, all right? And check under her girth, I thought I noticed a spot there where she seems to be getting rubbed wrong. If so, requisition me a new saddle, all right?" He nodded sharply. As my adjutant, Henry was technically in charge of maintaining my equipment and personal supplies, although we were just as likely to shine each other's boots when not around anyone else.

I watched them take off down the street, toward where I could see the picket lines of horses and sea of tents erected for the soldiers begin. I knew one of my boys would find me soon enough and let me know where I could eventually hang my hat and lay my head down.

The city was alive with soldiers and civilians. The streets were clogged with people, coming and going on their separate business, everyone with their own purpose. I scanned the crowd, searching for someone who looked vaguely official and might be able to tell me where the elusive Sergeant Major Wesley was.

I found my man after a minute. Dressed in a smartly maintained uniform, a first sergeant's grey chevron decorating his shoulders, he rounded the corner of the garrison office and knocked on the door; after finding it locked, he turned to me and jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

"Well, is little Tidwell out to lunch or something?" he asked me amiably.

I laughed, pulling off my hat and scratching at my unwashed hair. "Yeah, sorry about that, fellow, I sent him off with my men to get us some supplies and a tent." I put my hat back on, stuck out my hand for him to shake. "Jasper Whitlock."

He took the couple of steps toward me and grabbed my hand in a firm grip, shaking it properly. "Kenneth Smalls, at your service," he said, smiling broadly. His voice was full of the rolling deep-South drawl, cultured like my mother's. He was dark-haired, with a lush handlebar mustache that was the fashion then, and he had brown eyes that twinkled with humor. "Of the Alabama Smalls, by the way, friend. I know of some Whitlocks, are they any kin of yours?"

Back then, the world was much smaller. There was a good chance you'd meet someone who was related to you, or know your relations, anywhere you went.

I nodded. "My grandpa left Alabama long ago, went to Oklahoma, then my father went down to Texas, where I was born."

Kenneth Smalls looked over my dusty, stained uniform for a moment, but held his tongue in judgment. "So, you just arrived, then?"

I laughed, looking down at myself. I knew I was a sight. "Yes, just now. We came overland from New Orleans."

His eyes widened. "Were you there when New Orleans fell?" he asked in wonder, new respect in his eyes.

I shook my head. "No…well, yes, in a way, I suppose…" He looked confused, so I elaborated. "I had orders to proceed here to Galveston directly, and the commander in New Orleans told me that they had already decided to surrender the city." The sounds of the mortal barrages we'd heard as we left echoed in my mind. "We left right before they started firing. I have no idea what happened after that."

Smalls chuckled. "Well, you didn't really miss much…General Lovell surrendered the city, after Forts Jackson and St. Philip were pounded into the sand...and the Union General, Butler, took over as provisional governor, but no one liked him much…he put out an order that any local woman who disrespected or disobeyed the Union occupiers would be viewed as a prostitute and subject to prosecution…" He chuckled ruefully. "Can you imagine that?"

I stared at him for a moment, unbelieving. How terribly rude, to label any woman a whore for simply not bending her knee to some filthy blue-coated Union scum?

Smalls continued blithely. "Of course, Butler is a scoundrel anyway. No one likes him. They call him 'Spoons' now, because he supposedly steals the silverware from the houses he and his men occupy. He's likely to be removed soon."

I burst out laughing at the image of a decorated Union general stuffing his pockets with pilfered silverware. Smalls joined me in the laughter.

Finally, I had to get to business. "Well, Sergeant Smalls, thank you for the update, but I do need to find someone, and Corporal Tidwell wasn't of much assistance," I said seriously. "I need to find Sergeant Major Wesley. Any idea where he is? I have to report, I am overdue by a month."

Smalls thought for a moment. "Well, Wesley's likely over in the Officer's Mess right now, if you like I'll take you over there." He paused, glancing at my uniform again. "But, they might not let you in. Officers only, you know."

I laughed, holding up my orders packet. "Major Jasper Whitlock, reporting for duty."

He had the good grace to blush, and he straightened a bit. "Well, sorry, Major Whitlock, I had no idea…you have no insignia…"

I waved off the apology. "Don't worry about it, Smalls, it was a battlefield commission anyway, I was at Shiloh. The whole thing's to be made official here. They're expecting me."

He nodded in understanding, his eyes widening at the mention of Shiloh. I could tell he wanted to ask me about it, but he seemed to think better of it and turned on his heel, gesturing for me to follow him. "Right this way, Major."

We wound our way into the bustling crowd.

A few long, weary hours later, I was lying on my new cot in my new tent, dangling my feet off the edge while I read a copy of the local newspaper, trying to get a feel for what had been happening in Texas since I'd left it.

I'd had a good bath and a hot meal, and a fresh uniform hung in the corner, brand-new shiny black boots on the floor below. We now occupied a decent-sized tent, big enough for all three of us to fit comfortably, I even had my own section curtained off in the rear, with a tiny field desk and camp chair, and a chest for my belongings. Star and the other horses had been fed and groomed and given a feedbag of sweet oats, and all seemed well with the world, for the moment at least.

Kenneth Smalls had decided he liked our little trio, he'd hit it off well with Newt and Henry, and promised to come back at nightfall to bring us over to meet some of his other friends, men who were all good Southern gentlemen, he said, and who enjoyed the gentlemanly arts of drinking, poker, and cigar-smoking.

I'd never been one for cigars or drinking, but I did play a mean hand of poker, so I was looking forward to making Smalls's friends acquaintances—and taking their money, hopefully.

The tent's door-flaps rustled and parted, and in poked the head of Tidwell, grinning nervously. "Permission to enter, Major Whitlock?" he squeaked. He was still sweating.

I waved him in. "What is it, Corporal?"

He pushed himself inside the tent. He didn't even have to duck to not hit his head, as I did. It made me smile a bit.

"We have had these here at our post office for you for almost a month, Major. I thought I should bring them to you personal, right away." He fairly glowed with pride in his accomplishment as he extended something toward me: a twine-wrapped packet. Envelopes.

Letters from home.

I fairly fell off my cot as I struggled to my feet, smacking my head on the tent ridgepole in my haste to take them from him. Tidwell and Newt averted their faces out of respect; Henry barked a braying laugh at my clumsiness, as always incorrigible.

I snatched the bundle of envelopes from the little man's hands, and clapped him again on the shoulder. Again, he almost fell over. Maybe I should try to moderate my strength a bit with him, I mused absently.

"Good job, Corporal, good job." Tidwell flushed pink to the tips of his protruding ears, sketched a salute, and darted out of the tent. I'd made his day, I thought.

But he'd made mine.

I let down the ties on the curtains that closed off my section of the tent from the front; I didn't want any witnesses while I read. There was no telling what I might find out. I could never bear for Newt or Henry to see me upset or even overly happy. It wasn't proper.

There were ten letters there; three from Mother and Father, seven from Ginny.

I put Ginny's letters aside with hands that were shaking a bit; I felt a flush of shame at that, then reminded myself that a man doesn't have to be ashamed at loving his family. But I still kept hers aside, to read last, like a dessert I was intent on savoring.

The letters from Mother and Father spanned a space of about six months, dating from a month before Shiloh to about a week before I'd arrived in Galveston. They were all basically the same: the farm was fine, everyone was fine, they missed me but were proud of me, when could I come home? Was I enjoying my life as a soldier? Had I done the right thing, was I making them proud? Had I seen battle yet?

I rolled my eyes and put them aside. Had I seen battle? Was I making them proud? I felt a tightness in my chest, thinking of them. _God, I hope I am making them proud_, I thought, clenching my hands into fists on my knees. I reached for Ginny's letters.

March 3, 1862

Dear Jasper, I miss you. We all miss you. I think about you all the time. The farm is well, Papa and Big John have put up a field of sugar beets that seem to be doing well. Papa says sugar beets are the crop for Texas for the future, that soon we won't need to bring sugar in from Cuba, we can make it ourselves. I'm studying French now, with Mademoiselle Bichon, she's a nice person, but very silly. She thinks girls shouldn't laugh, except when men tell them jokes. I told her that was stupid, and she told Mama on me, and I got punishment, no riding Cloud for a week. I think the whole thing's dumb: why couldn't I laugh anytime I wanted to? And what does some French spinster know about anything, anyway? You wouldn't like her. She's pretty but stupid. Oh yes, I also have been practicing with your old .22 rifle, Big John has given me lessons in secret, and I can hit a tin can from 100 yards every time! I thought you should know, in case the Union soldiers make it here. I can help defend the house. I hope that makes you feel better. I love you Big Brother. Come home soon, please. Love, Ginny.

They were all pretty much the same, except for the last one, dated two weeks ago. It was so different it made my whole body tense in shock.

"Dear Jasper, I hope you are doing well. I miss you. Everyone misses you. The last time we heard from you was when you were sent to Tennessee. We got word two months ago you were at Shiloh, that you'd lived and that you'd been promoted. I'm glad you're all right.

Bad things happened after we found out you went to Tennessee, and even though they know you're all right, things changed and haven't gotten better. Probably they're even worse. Mama and Papa hardly talk to each other anymore. I think Mama blames Papa for telling you about war, for teaching you how to fight and shoot and stuff like that. I heard her say that to him one time, and they barely have said one word to each other ever since.

Mama only cries at night, she doesn't sleep, and Father drinks sometimes, now, which you know he never did before. They are very worried about you, but they don't talk about it. Doc B comes by at least once a week now, and he tells Mama she has to rest, but she can't sleep except with the laudanum, and Doc B doesn't want to give her much, he says it's bad for her. I don't like it when she takes it, it makes her sleep so hard, and then she is so funny when she wakes up, like she doesn't remember anything…then she remembers you're gone, and she cries again, and it all starts all over.

Papa hardly talks to me anymore, like he used to. When I tried to get him to talk to me about the books he bought me for my birthday, he walked away like he hadn't heard me. He's gotten skinny, and like I said, he drinks now, but only when he doesn't know I can see it. I found a bunch of empty bourbon bottles in his study last week. I think that's the only way he can sleep. He keeps reading the newspapers about battles. He heard you were at Shiloh and he didn't come out of his study for three days, no matter how much Mama Dina and Big John begged him. And I can't sleep much either. I can only sleep when I go lay down in your room, though if Mama knew I did that she'd have a fit and have to be restrained. Your room is exactly like when you left it, like some kind of shrine.

I hope you are happy that you made this choice, Jasper, because I don't understand it. I know you say all kinds of things about being a patriot and being a good example for me, but I don't care. This war is a bad thing. Brothers shouldn't fight brothers, especially about owning other people and silly things like that. The Union isn't much different from the Confederacy, except we have different accents. Mama Dina and Big John were slaves, remember? Would you tell them it's not all right for them to be free? Would you tell them it's all right for someone to own them, if they went back to Georgia and got captured? Would you tell them they're not people, that they're animals to be owned, like a lot of people say? You want to defend that ideal?

I have a bad feeling, Big Brother, a feeling that you're never coming home. I've dreamed about it. I know it's terrible to say, but I am tired of lying about it, trying to put the "best face" on things. I have tried to write you happy letters before, like Mama and Papa wanted me to do, but I'm tired of it now. Maybe you should know the horrible things that happened when you left, so maybe you'll reconsider this stupid fool's errand of yours, going off to fight a stupid war that can't be won, and come home where you belong, before it's too late.

No matter how mad I am with you, I always love you, I just wish you'd come home. Soon. Alive.

Love always, Ginny."

The letter fell to the floor from my numb fingers. I couldn't keep it from falling. I could barely breathe anymore.

Images flashed through my head.

Mother, crying. Not sleeping. Father, drinking. Not talking to each other anymore. No more laughter in our home. Ginny, tossing and turning in my bed, like I'd imagined her the night in New Orleans, crying out in her sleep with her strange dreams. Mama Dina and Big John, in chains, bound aback for the South, to work again on someone's plantation.

Me, dead in a ditch somewhere. What would happen to my family then? What if Ginny was right?

I lay there in the tent as the day ended and the night closed in, the evening making the inside of my little cubbyhole impenetrably black. It was stifling in there, but it didn't matter. I lived inside my mind, my body forgotten.

Even when Henry tapped on the curtain and asked me if I wanted to go play poker, I didn't respond. After a few minutes he went away, though I heard his concerned mutterings as they faded with distance.

Poker didn't matter. Nothing mattered. My little sister had a feeling I wouldn't come home.

And she had almost never been wrong when she made such strange prophecies, usually when she dreamed them.

I lay there until dawn broke. I hadn't moved an inch. Tears coursed down my cheeks and wet the pillow, but I didn't care. They dried in the morning heat.

Colonel Cook finally returned from his inspection of the fortified islands off the Gulf Coast and was able to give me my formal promotion to Major. He pinned my new epaulets onto my jacket and shook my hand vigorously, slapping me on the back and offering me a drink of whiskey in celebration. I took it to be polite, but I only took a sip, handing it off to Henry when Colonel Cook wasn't looking, who chugged it in one slug and placed the glass back into my hand in a moment.

The months flew by. July bled into August, August into September, and September wound to a close. The summer had been oppressively heavy and hotter than Hell's backyard, steamy-humid down on the Gulf Coast. The men sweated and cursed and swatted at mosquitoes; malaria ran rampant, as well as yellow fever and dysentery.

I was assigned a company of men, and I kept my discipline strict. Even though they didn't understand why, they followed my orders to boil their drinking and washing water, keep the horses far from the water tubs, and to build smoky fires to keep away the insects. When a whole month had passed and hardly any of my men fell sick, they began to understand and respect me, rather than just obey by custom.

The Union was coming. They'd actually arrived at the mouth of Galveston Harbor in July, right after I had come, blockading the entrance, keeping anyone from entering or exiting the harbor. They'd also engaged in a few lightning raids, terrorizing locals, who withdrew from the outlying farms and small towns into the city proper, or relocated entirely to the interior of the state, never to return.

The city and the state as a whole were suffering from the blockade. Although some things were brought overland, the war had taken its toll on the land routes as well, and the bad spring weather had made it all but impossible for caravans to pass. Back then, the trains weren't running across the country like they were a few years later, and the steamships on the Mississippi were under Union control. The city soon began to feel the effects of the blockade: perishables not produced locally were becoming scare, and manufactured and finished goods such as tools, machinery, paper, and other dry goods were becoming rare as well. I felt lucky to be able to drink coffee every day, when many of the men had only water or tea. I was an officer, after all.

I had a good working relationship with my superiors and my men; they listened to me and I had developed a good deal of respect among everyone. I understand now that a lot of it was due to my "gift" with people, even in its weak mortal form, but I do hope that at least a portion was due to the fact that I was raised well and educated properly.

I never got past what Ginny had written to me. I read and re-read that letter so many times the paper began to yellow and thin in places, where I would clutch it and rub my thumbs along her neat lines of elegant script. She hadn't written me since, though I'd received several letters from Mother and Father, always the same dull propaganda. Whenever there was a mail call, I'd tense up until I held whatever I received in my hands, but it never was a letter from Ginny.

On October 2, 1862, my commander summoned me into his tent. I knew it was bad news. The whole garrison had been awash in rumors over the last few days, rumors of a Union invasion.

Commander Cook was sitting at his desk, looking over a sheaf of orders when I rapped on the door flap and asked for admittance; he's had the curtains drawn and tied aside, admitting a bit of fresh air. I remember the afternoon was stiflingly hot, even though it was October. Flies buzzed everywhere, a mind-numbing backdrop that escalated everyone's tension.

"Ah, Major Whitlock, please come in," he said evenly, setting his papers down and looking up at me. I entered and saluted; he motioned for me to relax. "At ease, sir."

I put down my arm but remained at attention, waiting for him to speak.

"Major Whitlock, we are going to begin evacuating the city in the morning. You are going to be in charge of this operation."

His words stunned me. Evacuation? Me, in charge? "Surely, sir, there are other, older, more qualified officers than myself…" I stammered.

Cook held up a hand to silence me; I snapped my mouth shut.

"Be that as it may, Whitlock, be that as it may." He sighed, stroking his thick, luxuriant beard, preoccupied. "You're the youngest Major in the Confederate Army, but also one of the most competent, Whitlock. You're the only one I have here right now that I can trust. I need everyone else to be on alert, ready for the battle when it comes. You are to escort the first column of women and children up to Houston. I know you are an excellent soldier, Whitlock, but you are also one of the few men I can trust to convey those civilians safely and in an organized fashion. Anyone can hold a gun, but not just anyone can do a job like this one."

I couldn't argue with him. And Houston! I would be so close to home! Perhaps…

"I need you back here as soon as possible, Whitlock. We want to try to keep these damn Union devils from taking the city. And I'll be relying on you very heavily then, as well. So full speed ahead, sir."

With those few words he dashed my hopes. But I pushed my bitterness down as deep as possible, and nodded my acceptance. That's what a good officer does.

Colonel Cook shook his head sadly, looking off into space moodily. "I have a bad feeling about this, Whitlock. I don't want to sound like a traitor, but our luck lately hasn't been what it should be…I hope we hold them off this time. Not another New Orleans."

I nodded. I would hate to have the Union in charge of a city so close to my home.

"Ah well," he muttered, slapping the top of his desk. "Dismissed, Whitlock. Go get yourself and your men ready. The civilians will be ready to depart at dawn, according to the Mayor. You should be ready before then."

I saluted again and left his tent, my mind whirling with all the things I needed to do.

The next morning, dawn broke to find me at the head of a column of women, children, and old folks, headed northwest. Some were mounted, some rode in wagons or carriages, but most were on foot. A staggering tide of humanity trailed behind me, winding our ways up from the Galveston lowlands up into the arid, rolling hills of East Texas, heading for Houston.

Henry, Newt, and I rode point, flanking each other; we rarely spoke. We weren't flying the Confederate colors, because there was no telling if the Union had sent any patrols onto land to pen us in or cut us off from Houston. We had a small contingent of soldiers riding with us; they ranged around the column of civilians in a moving pattern, constantly covering the vulnerable, unarmed people, in case someone opened fire on us.

I rode with a heavy heart. It still felt so wrong, to be going so very close to home, so close to Mother and Father…and Ginny…and not be able to go see them.

I kept rationalizing with myself, that I could slip away for a few hours, ride hard, and return quickly after a brief visit. I entertained myself with these idle fantasies…but I always knew it wouldn't work. It would be known if I took off, and Colonel Cook would find out I directly flouted his orders to head straight back. I didn't want a disciplinary case on my record; I had gone through too much for this dream of war I'd had, to ruin any good reputation I might have earned like that, making it all for nothing. Also, I was needed. People depended on me.

We rode in relative silence all day, pressing hard. It was well after nightfall when the city lights hove into view; I had not allowed many stops, knowing that we couldn't afford to make camp in the lonesome, unprotected wilderness that stretched between Galveston and Houston, and I needed to head back to Galveston the same night. Even though the civilians groaned in protest, they kept walking, and it was a welcome sight when we reached the torches lit at the boundaries of the refugee camp on the outskirts of Houston.

I stood by while Newt and Henry finished the head count, making sure that all of the people we'd left with from Galveston had reached their destination. When I was satisfied, I took Star to the local picket line and handed her off to a quartermaster's assistant.

"Rub her down and give her a mash, she's been ridden hard all day, and I want her in good shape when I come back to claim her tomorrow."

The man nodded his assent and passed Star off to the groom who brought my fresh replacement; the man murmured over her as he led her away. I watched them disappear into the gloom, my stomach sinking. I hated riding a different horse.

"Oh well, boy, I suppose we'd better get used to each other, then, eh?" I rubbed the new horse's nose, scratched behind his poll. He was a bay gelding, with a star on his forehead similar to Star's. At least he was a decent animal, good legs, not skittish. "We'll get along well, I suppose."

I mounted up and called out to Henry and Newt. "Let's go, boys!"

Newt walked over, looking upset. "Jas, I think we need to stay here tonight," he whispered up at me, reaching up to grab my stirrup. "Henry's not feeling well, he's been sicking up ever since we got here."

I frowned. I had noticed Henry's uncharacteristic quiet during the long ride from Galveston, but I'd been so totally lost in my own melancholy that I hadn't thought much of it, except thinking perhaps he'd been drinking again til late the night before. "Is he feverish?" I asked, feeling guilty for not having paid more attention to my man.

Newt nodded, glancing back over his shoulder. I could hear Henry in the darkness beyond, groaning now. "Yes, he's got fever, and he looks awful yellow."

I groaned. "Of course. Yellow fever." Shaking my head, I reached down and patted Newt's hand. "All right, Newt, get him settled in here, and I'll be back tomorrow night to collect you and Star. He can stay here til he's better, no use him going to battle when he's sick." We both laughed a little.

With a parting grin and wave, I set off for Galveston, the cooling night swallowing me whole.

I never saw them again.


	5. Chapter 5: Rue de Paradis

Chapter 5: Rue de Paradis

If I'd loved New York, I swooned over Paris. It became my new home. But it took me some time to get used to it.

I'd arrived in France ten days after departing New York. The voyage had been uneventful, although by the time my feet touched the rough planks of the wharf in Paris my throat burned with an intensity I hadn't felt in a long time. I hadn't fed before fleeing New York, not wanting to take the time to do so…and it had been too long before that, anyway. I always put off feeding as long as I could.

All around me the crowd swirled, people jostling me as I stood motionless among them, my struggle with my thirst momentarily rendering me stiff as a statue. The scent of them, hot blood pulsing through their veins, was agonizing. Even so, in the midst of my fight with myself, I could still hear the differences in the languages around me: many were spoken, though French was definitely predominant, the voices mingling and clashing, laughter and shouts and conversations. My mind heard and catalogued them all, even as my body warred with my will. I had much to learn, and I gritted my teeth with determination: I would learn all I could, and more. And always, always, maintain control of myself.

I kept my eyes closed for a moment, remembering, trying to get a grip on my instincts. I flooded my mind with memories, trying to gain perspective.

I thought about my time on the boat. I had stayed belowdecks in my stateroom during the trip, only venturing above in the nighttime, to take in the breathtaking sight of the moon hovering over the restless sea, the stars glittering abnormally close and bright—no longer dimmed or obscured by city lights, I saw the skies the way they were meant to be seen, endless and expansive, full of mystery.

The ocean was studded with foamy whitecaps, whipped up by the strong winds blowing from the north: it was the beginning of wintertime, and there were icebergs about as well. The North Atlantic crossing was often a dangerous one at that time of the year, even with the modern advances of steamship travel. I had held my breath at the sight of the icebergs, glittering like diamonds in the moonlight, floating low in the water…but I knew there was much more to them below the surface, jagged enough to tear open the hull and sink our ship in minutes. I could hear the watchmen up in the tower constantly calling out direction changes and warnings to the officer manning the wheel below. It had been a White Star Line vessel I was sailing on, after all, and no one wanted a repeat of the disastrous Titanic incident!

Of course, the fact that I wouldn't have been in any real danger wasn't important to me. I could swim without tiring, could stay submerged and never need to breathe…But I thought of all the people, and held my breath anyway, anxious—for them. And I found the icerbergs a disturbingly accurate analogy for my own nature: glittering, cold, hard, dangerous...deceptive.

I loved to lean over the edge of the railing and inhale the sharp, salty scent of the water, to feel the icy cold wind as I breathed it in. It felt so clean, and I felt so alive. For the first time in…ever.

During all that time, never having to sleep, I had thought over and over about why I had left New York. Corin's darkly handsome face and his tales replayed themselves in my mind over and over again, alternating with Eleazar's anguished but hopeful expression as he gazed at his Carmen in her suffering.

By now, I knew, Carmen would have completed her transition into…what we were, and he would be watching over her carefully, giving her the protection and guidance that I had never had. I felt a little pang of jealousy at that, but I knew I had my golden lion, my Jasper, waiting for me in my future, so it was only a little pang. Just a tiny one.

I thought also of Carolyn, the waitress from my cafe back in New York, and hoped she found some joy. Sometimes, I would concentrate very hard and try to see her. It wasn't as easy with her so far away, and now that I had learned how much more intense my visions for my own kind were, the ones I had for humans seemed to pale by comparison, and were difficult to bring into focus. But I did glean a few hopeful glimpses: Carolyn smiling in a new dress, a blessed few pounds heavier, wearing the shoes I had bought her. Also, Carolyn strolling down some unknown street, not in New York anymore, arm and arm with a pleasant-looking fellow in a nice suit who smiled down at her with delight and fondness as they laughed together. I hoped that meant that she'd found a good man and would have a peaceful life, somewhere.

The images of the falling man, the suicide, were still engraved onto the insides of my eyelids. I couldn't escape the horrible sight, could still hear the screaming echoing in my mind. I was so glad to be away from the City and the memories. Perhaps a new start would help me get past it all.

It did worry me a little to be in Europe, so close to the Volturi that Corin and Eleazar had told me about. Would I run into any of them? I doubted it. Now that I knew what to look for, I thought I had a pretty good chance of being able to evade them, and I would be looking for any decisions they might make concerning me, even if only vaguely. It struck me several times how very lucky I was, to have such an ability, to have these visions: it would be very hard for anyone to sneak up on me!

"M'excuser, mademoiselle, peux-je vous aider avec quelque chose?"

A human voice jarred me out of my reverie, bringing me to the present again with a jolt. I opened my eyes and turned to the direction of the speaker, holding my breath.

A rather unremarkable little boy stood there, dressed much like little boys dressed back in New York: knee trousers and shirt, jacket, cap shoved down over a mop of unruly brown hair. His round face was dusted with freckles, his smile was gap-toothed, his eyes brown and intelligent. He stared up at me fearlessly, his hand out like he was waiting for something.

It took me half a second to remember the French I'd been learning during my voyage. He'd asked me if he could help me with anything. It was common back in New York as well, children of that age working as guides and helpers, greeting arriving tourists. And they often robbed the tourists as often as they helped them, I remembered, smiling wryly.

"Oui, s'il vous plaît, pouvez-vous me prendre pour un bon hôtel bon marché? Je viens d'arriver de New York," I replied politely. _Yes, please, can you take me to a good, inexpensive hotel? I have just arrived from New York._ I decided I would give him a chance. I didn't get any immediate sinister pictures from him.

He grinned even wider, reaching up to lift his cap in greeting and bent in a very elegant bow. "Yes, mademoiselle, I can help you very much!" he said in halting but clear English. "My grand-mère has a very nice pension, on the Rue de Paradis, it is very clean and not expensive, and my grand-mère cooks very well!"

I laughed. Clean would be always welcome…the cooking wouldn't be necessary. But he didn't need to know that. "Thank you…" I trailed off, biting my lip. "What is your name? My name is Alice." I held out my gloved hand for him to shake.

The boy immediately shook with me, pumping my hand effusively, like he was trying to get water from me. He wasn't that much shorter than myself, I noticed with a bit of chagrin. "Perrine, Mademoiselle Alice, my name is Perrine. Perrine Bruyere."

I smiled and leaned down to pick up some of my bags, which lay piled around me on the wharf. Even though I'd left many things back in New York, I had still brought a lot; I couldn't bear to be parted from too many of my clothes. "Well, Perrine, find us a taxi, then, and take me to see your grandmother!" I ordered pleasantly; he snapped a sharp salute and streaked off into the throng of people without a backward glance.

I had arrived. _Bienvenue à Paris, Alice…_

Little Perrine had been as good as his word.

He'd brought back a taxi and loaded all my bags and trunks into it, even though he was tinier than me—he looked like he was only about ten years old, although I found out later he was twelve. But tiny or not, he worked like a little Trojan, hefting my heavy things without complaint. Then he'd gallantly opened the back door for me to enter the car and slid in next to me, giving directions to the driver and chattering to me alternately in confused English and French. It was quite entertaining: he was an intelligent child, and very willing to please.

I had never really spent much time around human children, and at first I had studied him intently, trying to learn more about him, about children in general. I found it extraordinarily disturbing when the scent of their blood appealed to me; they were so defenseless, so soft and innocent, with their big eyes and wide smiles, totally unaware when they looked at me they were looking at something that could erase their future altogether.

I tried very hard to not think of the burning agony building in my throat with every passing moment as we wound our way through the congested, narrow streets, but it was very difficult, with him sitting next to me in the small car: the heat of his body fairly shimmered off him, and his scent was very compelling, making my mouth fill with venom. I had to open the window and gulp lungfuls of the cold November air, trying to keep myself from going mad.

It seemed an eternity passed before the car finally slid to a stop in front of a four-story stone building. There was a bright green awning over the shining glass doors, and each window was adorned with a boxful of flowers, which somehow still bloomed in the cold. An elegant sign next to the door proclaimed "Pension des Tailleurs," or the Hotel of the Tailors, in gold script, encircled by a depiction of winding thread and needles. I wondered about that.

Perrine let himself out and held the door for me once again, sweeping a grand gesture toward the hotel. "Bienvenue chez moi, Mademoiselle Alice, welcome to my home!" he chirped, smiling his gap-toothed grin.

I glanced about as he unloaded my baggage and bustled it inside. Rue de Paradis was a long, winding road, with nice houses, the streets and sidewalks clean and bright, and I could smell baking bread somewhere, the scent drifting on the brisk breeze. It was a welcome change from the smell of the little boy, if infinitely less appetizing.

"Bienvenue, Mademoiselle, bienvenue! S'il vous plaît, entrez!" Another voice, this time a woman's.

I looked up and saw an older human woman coming toward me; she was withered and soft, like a dried peach, her dark brown eyes bright in her wrinkled face, wispy white hair pulled up into a bun, a grin that matched Perrine's in both its broadness and missing teeth stretching her lips. She held out her arms in welcome. Perrine trailed behind her.

I smiled back at the woman. "Do you speak English?" I asked her. It was easier. Even though I knew my French was better than average now, I hadn't spoken it much, and was a bit shy. I vowed to myself to use my time wisely, and learn as many human languages as I could. I hated feeling ignorant, and I knew my mind could grasp anything quickly.

She nodded. "Yes, a little," she said haltingly, her accent very thick, looking down at Perrine for help. "I am Madame Bruyere, and this is my hotel. You are welcome here, Mademoiselle."

"My name is Alice, Madame Bruyere. Thank you for your welcome."

She snapped her fingers at Perrine. "Allez dire à cuire pour obtenir un peu de café et du pain préparé pour notre invité, et dites-Jacques pour préparer la chambre 12, petit-fils." He dashed off eagerly while she watched him go with fond eyes. I wouldn't be needing any coffe or bread, like she'd told them to prepare for me, but the room would be nice. I needed to get away from people for a while, wait for dark…and then hunt. Or else something unfortunate might happen, and I shuddered inside at the thought of that, of hurting these sweet people.

Madame Bruyere ushered me into the hotel, clucking like a mother hen over me. "Entrez, entrez! Être à l'aise! Come in, make yourself at home, please!"

The lobby was small but comfortable and scrupulously clean, the furniture polished to a gleaming finish, the fabrics colorful and well-tailored. I wondered again at the name of the hotel, and the needle and thread on the sign. Was this a family of tailors and seamstresses?

She led me up a few sets of stairs, grunting a bit with effort by the time we gained the top floor. "Whew!" she gasped, wiping her red forehead as she pressed her other hand against a door that was decorated with a brass plate reading "12". "Here is your room, Miss Alice," she said breathlessly. I watched her for a moment with wide eyes, hearing the way her heart was pounding in her fragile chest—if she keeled over from a heart attack right in front of me I wouldn't know what to do.

Finally she pulled a huge brass ring from her apron pocket; the keys on it jingled merrily as she unlocked the door. "Please, go in!" she clucked again, pushing me gently in.

It was a lovely little suite. The main room was furnished with a comfortable-looking divan and armchair upholstered in a cool mint-green damask; the walls were painted a pleasant eggshell color and landscapes decorated the walls, watercolors and oils. An open door showed the bedroom, which had a large four-poster bed covered in a robin's-egg blue coverlet and hand-embroidered pillows. Beyond the bed was a set of French doors, leading to a terrace. I imagined the view at night would be lovely.

Perrine came in behind us, pushing a cart with my luggage on it. I wondered if he'd had to climb those stairs with the cart, and then thought there must be a lift somewhere. He didn't look winded in the slightest, in fact he was grinning.

"Would you like me to help you unpack, Miss Alice?" he asked me, laying my garment bag down over the edge of the divan.

I shook my head, my lips tight against my teeth. Again, in the small confines of the room, the scent of them filled my head, the burning of my thirst clouding my thoughts. "No, Perrine, thank you…I just need a little rest, if that's all right?" I managed, trying not to breathe.

The Bruyeres nodded in understanding and backed out of the room quietly, closing the door behind them. Hoteliers must learn the art of discretion, I supposed.

I waited until the instant I heard the door click and turned and raced through the suite, bursting through the bedroom and through the French doors onto the terrace, where I hung over the edge of the railing, gasping the clean air, trying to rid myself of the agony the scent of their blood had engendered in me. I stayed there for a few minutes, eyes closed, my cheek pressed against the cool stone of the terrace, waiting for my control to return.

Finally I straightened and looked out over the city.

Paris in 1929 was a lovely place, as it is now, but back then it was quite a bit smaller, the buildings shorter. Much of the old city that had been standing for hundreds and hundreds of years was still there, the streets in the old parts cobblestone alleyways barely big enough for one car to pass, much less two. I could see in the distance a great metal structure, dominating the skyline: I would later find out that the builder, Eiffel, had been part of the team which had constructed the Statue of Liberty in New York Harbor. What a neat little circle it made for me.

It was a cold, clear November day, the wind blowing little bits of fluffy white cloud across the deep blue sky. The city lay spread before me like a canvas, an uncharted map, beckoning me to explore it. I smiled at the challenge, and decided I would begin tonight.

Perhaps I could find some good jazz?

I waited until the darkness descended over the beautiful old city, watching from my balcony as the shadows crept through the streets, the streetlights flickering on in their wake. The cool November afternoon air chilled even more, became laden with dew, leaving a scrim of frost on the old granite railing around the edge of my terrace. When I pressed my fingers into the frost it didn't melt. I was so cold. I sighed and looked up: above, the stars began to twinkle.

Now I could safely descend and slake my thirst. But where?

I had to look for someplace…unsavory. The kind of place where the bad humans could be found, doing their bad deeds…Fun places, usually, ironically. I might be able to find some good music, some dancing maybe…and hopefully, the end of my tormenting thirst for a while.

I changed my clothes quickly, choosing carefully. I had to look good, but not _too_ good, for fear of attracting too much attention.A little black beaded dress that hung just past my knees, covered with a black swing coat, a blood-red silk print scarf, a little black cloche hat with red detail, pulled down snugly over my hair, which I slicked against my cheeks in pincurls. I stared at myself in the mirror for a long moment, wondering at how human I looked: with my eyes black as night, it was easier passing for human…but who knew how red they might be before sunrise?

I slipped from my room into the hallway, shutting the door carefully, not wanting anyone to hear the lock click home. I stuffed a little handwritten note into the jamb, urging the Bruyeres to leave me be until the next morning; I could only imagine the little old woman bustling in with a laden tray of dinner, to find me gone.

I found the lift that Perrine must have used earlier, but didn't want to use it, for fear of the mechanism being noisy and alerting the staff that the lift was in use. But I was in luck: there was another exit, a fire exit, leading directly down to the alley behind the hotel. Perfect. I had a feeling I would be using that exit quite a bit in the coming days or weeks, however long I decided to stay in the hotel.

The streets of Paris were alive even at night; the voices of the humans mingled in the chilly air, the gas streetlights casting every face into soft, romantic lines. I felt very much at home, passing among the Parisians, even the language was coming easier to me. I could understand almost everything being said around me. They were chattering about where to go, what to eat, what to do and who to see…

That was when I heard it. A name that would change my life.

_Moulin Rouge._

I found the place easily enough, it took only a few quiet inquiries and then the huge windmill atop the red roof, visible for many blocks, drew me in like a bee to a fragrant flower.

I hadn't ever seen anything like it in my years of awareness. People (mostly male humans, that is) thronged around the sprawling building, and the conversation there was much louder and more coarse than it had been on the more "civilized" streets. The air was redolent with the smells of tobacco smoke, liquor, burning food, and body odor, combining into a noxious and heady perfume that burned my sensitive nostrils; but under it all, pulsing, hot, alluring, was the scent of the blood that coursed through all the humans. Whether they be civilized or coarse, criminal or saint, they all smelled mouthwatering to me at that point.

I hung back, watching the crowds, swallowing back the venom welling in my mouth.

The music swelling from within was carried to me on the cool night breeze, resounding drums and tinkling piano, a rowdy, raucous, sensuous beat that made me want to move with its rhythm…I saw the faces of the men as they came and went, going in looking eager and full of anticipation…coming out, red-faced and glassy-eyed, as if they'd been literally stuffed full of lewdness…Even though I didn't understand it at all, the music and the crowd called to me, something within me whispering that I wouldn't be noticed in there, that I might find what I was looking for in there…

_What am I looking for?_ I asked myself suddenly, biting my hard lip between my sharp teeth, worrying it in a gesture I knew vaguely must have carried over from my past, unknown life.

_Blood, that's what you want, Alice. Blood. Plain and simple. _I answered myself firmly, nodding sharply, _And inside that place, you have a good chance of getting it without being noticed. So get on!_

It was full dark when I managed to wend my way into the building. I had to press myself between all those strange men, trying to make myself as invisible as possible, my whole being throbbing with the amount of sensory data flowing in through my nostrils and eyes and skin…I could feel the dirty touch of their eyes on me, the way their hands slid over me when I pushed them out of my way…finally, I was inside, in the cavernous belly of the Moulin Rouge.

The music inside was deafening, the whole place darker than outside, lit by a profusion of gas lamps that didn't seem to make a dent in the gloom. The air was smoky and stifling, the smells heavier than outside, for inside the chokingly sweet perfumes of the woman were added to the mixture.

Men were everywhere, at tables and booths and at the long, polished bars that curled around the walls; men drinking, men smoking, men chatting with waitresses and bartenders and dancing girls, men ogling the dancers on stage. There were women everywhere as well: beautiful women, of all ages and ethnicities, their faces painted, their bodies encased in tight, flamboyant costumes with flounced skirts and fishnet stockings. Their laughter and calls and conversation mingled with the men's, until it was all so much I could barely make anything out.

There was a piano in the corner, played by a man who seemed to be having some kind of fit of apoplexy as he pounded on the keys in a ragged, pulsing melody, the piano bench pushed back as he danced in place to his music while playing. I drifted a bit closer, listening carefully, trying to make out the song. Then it abruptly ended, leaving me standing in the midst of the crowd, feeling a bit lost…then it struck up again, but with a slightly different attitude.

Whereas before the song had been joyously carefree, this tune was…warm, and felt…almost…dirty. I heard a flurry of catcalls and whistles come from around me, and when I turned to see what the fuss was about, I saw the girls come trooping out onto the stage.

There were about sixteen of them, all fine-looking and young, made up in dazzling paint and glitter, long lush hair falling in ringlets and waves about perfect shoulders, with spectacular bosoms on display in their low-cut bodices, their equally spectacular legs showing below their knee-length skirts in black fishnet stockings and tall heels. They blew kisses and shouted lewd suggestions at the men in the audience, who replied with frenzied whistles and showers of coins and flowers and handkerchiefs.

At some unseen cue, they all linked arms, and the drums joined in with the piano, and the women began to dance.

I had never seen such a thing in my life. They moved in unison, their bodies undulating and twisting as one, they jumped and kicked and twirled and pirouetted in perfect timing. They would pull one knee up in and then kick the leg high above their heads, then repeat it on the other side, so fast, so effortlessly…The men were panting, screaming their appreciation all around me; had I not been so immune to the heat, I might have been tempted to faint or flee from the raw animal miasma permeating the place.

I had to pull my eyes away from the stage, from those beautiful girls and their sensuous yet amazing displays…I had seen a lot of dancing in New York, but nothing like this. Keeping my head down, I made my way toward a darker corner, where I might be able to watch from a less-vulnerable place.

A hot human hand gripped my upper arm, vise-like, from behind, and pulled me to a stop; I don't know why I allowed it, I could have flung the man through the wall, had I chosen, but some innate sense of caution stopped me. A picture flashed through my mind, giving me pause.

"_Alors, où vas-tu, ma jolie chose?_" The man's voice was slurred with alcohol, but I understood him well enough. _Where are you going, my pretty thing?_

I turned slowly and looked at the man, wincing away from the bourbon fumes on his breath; his eyes were bloodshot and bleary, his hair messy, his clothes expensive but rumpled. He clutched an empty bottle in his hand, and was quite unsteady on his feet.

But he still had a dangerous air about him. My picture told me he wasn't a…nice man.

"I am leaving, thank you very much," I replied coldly in French, reaching up to pry his greasy fingers one-by-one from my arm. He might stain my lovely dress.

He blinked in surprise. "Why, _mon petit_, the night is young, and you are lovely, why not stay and have a drink with me?" he said, grinning in a way I supposed was meant to be charming but fell far short of the mark.

"No thank you, sir, I must be getting home. I am expected."

He laughed, the braying sound reminding me of donkey carters back in New York. "Ah, _ma belle_, no, no one is expecting you, I think, you just want to be rude to poor Arnaud!" He somehow managed to catch my wrist and jerk me a bit closer. His stinking breath made my eyes water…and the hot pulse of his blood, beating visibly in the jugular in his exposed neck, made my _mouth_ water…

"Stay. One drink." He swallowed, looking me up and down, his eyes lingering on my legs, my exposed neck. "You know you want it. You girls always do." His voice dropped, almost a growl.

I took a small breath, trying not to inhale the scent of his blood, closing my eyes with the effort to control myself. In that hot, close room the smell of blood was impossible to avoid, and the man, this hideous man, smelled better than the rest of them. _Why?_

Then it struck me. After all, I'd gone in there looking for some…relief, right?

And here was relief, staring me blearily in the face, practically begging for me to end his miserable life. No one would miss him, surely. I might be doing Paris a good deed, taking Arnaud out of the picture.

I couldn't help myself. It must have been Fate again. I cast one quick, frantic look into the future: would I endanger anyone by taking this nasty man, by making him disappear? Would there be problems?

I saw nothing. My thirst screamed within me. My mouth watered.

"Well…all right then, Monsieur Arnaud, one drink." I smiled a little, pursing my lips at him in what I hoped was a flirtatious manner, fluttering my eyelashes. It must have worked: his pulse sped, his eyes widened, then narrowed in something akin to hunger…perhaps lust? "But not here. It's too…common here. Not private enough." I made my voice as sweet as honey, pitching it so low only he could hear it, and even then he had to lean toward me.

Arnaud licked his lips and nodded, dropping his empty bottle and straightening his crooked tie. "I knew you liked me, _mon petit_, I could see it from the first!" he mumbled, and his greasy fingers inched up my forearm, caressing the skin until they latched above my elbow, hard as iron…but I was unbreakable stone. "Come on then, _mon fleur_, let's find a more…quiet place." He laughed, and the sound of it sent shivers down my spine, shivers of disgust and thirst. "I know just the spot..."

Somehow I knew that he'd done this before. I didn't need to be able to read his mind. I could just feel it.

As he led me through the throng of raucous men, toward a back exit, I wondered how many young women had done this exact thing: allowed themselves to be pulled away from people, into the darkness, never to come out again? How many hadn't allowed it, but had been forced?

But it wouldn't ever happen again.

We emerged from the Moulin Rouge into the back garden, a dark, shadowy place lit only scarcely by oil-fed torches around the edges. Arnaud kept pulling me until we went out the back of the garden, in to an alleyway, away from the crowds, away from safety…

I could hear his heart beating faster. I could smell his blood coursing through his veins, pushed on faster and faster by the spurt of adrenaline brought on by the thoughts he was having about me, about what he might do to me. I felt nauseated by the man, my skin crawled with his touch, but I let him keep dragging me.

The sound of our footsteps rang loudly in my ears. The buildings loomed high above, dark and close, blocking out the stars; no breeze touched the street, which was dirty there, trash and other refuse piled everywhere. I saw homeless children and adults huddled in doorways and beneath shelters of newspaper and packing crate. Dogs barked, water dripped, I heard someone crying somewhere, and the sounds of arguing in rapid-fire French from within one of the dark, dreary houses.

"Here we are then, _ma belle_, up and in you go!" Arnaud whispered suddenly, stopping and pulling me close, his other hand curling around my other arm, the thumbs rubbing appreciatively at my skin through the fabric of my sleeves. He leaned in close to me, inhaling; the smell of him made my stomach turn, except for the scent of his blood. "Mmm, you smell…very nice…" he said, and I felt his lips graze my collarbone; they were hot, and a shock coursed through me. I felt as if the place on my skin where it had been defiled by those lips might be stained. What was I doing? Why was I letting him touch me?

_Alice, don't play with your food_, I reprimanded myself. _Get this over with quickly, and get back to your room!_

Jasper's leonine face flickered through my mind, and I felt myself go limp with relief at seeing it, even only in my thoughts. Only a few years more of enduring this, of having to do things like this, deal with people like this…we would be free…

"Well, what're you waiting on, girl! Let's go!" Arnaud's harsh voice shattered my little fantasy, his hot breath against my cheek. He jerked my arms, shaking me.

"Oh, I-I'm sorry, monsieur, where are we going?" I asked him in a whisper, trying to keep my voice as low and innocent-sounding as possible, to keep the menace out of it.

All I wanted to do was tear his throat out. The sight of his pulsing jugular, the smell of his blood, scalded me. I felt a growl building in my chest and struggled to keep it down. _Wait, wait, only a few moments more!_

We were standing before a tenement building, a few stories high. Laundry fluttered from several windows, trash lay heaped around the crumbling stairs leading up to the main lobby. Arnaud let go of one of my arms and hauled me up the steps and inside.

The inside of the building was no better, probably worse. The trash was also there, and the smell of it was noxious. There were no lights, only the faint glow of the streetlights coming through the open door. Arnaud stood behind me, one hand still clamped around my upper arm; he reached around me and traced one rough finger across my cheekbone, then pushed back the hair from my ear, to lean down and whisper into it.

"Come on, _bebe_, let's go up to my room for that drink, eh?" I shivered in anticipation; so did he…but we weren't anticipating the same things.

Oh, what a surprise he had waiting for him!

Up we went, three flights of stairs, until he kicked in the door to a small, close room. Windowless, it must have been on the interior of the building. I could see scattered clothing and bedding, and could smell sweat and alcohol and waste…I could hear the cockroaches scurrying away from our entry, could hear them burrowing into the cracks in the walls, hiding.

"_Bienvenue chez moi, ma belle!_" he murmured, kicking the door closed behind us. How ironic, that he might use the same words Perrine had used just this afternoon…

It began quickly, and was over quickly.

With a grunt, he tried to sweep my legs out from beneath me, probably to throw me down to the ground, but I saw it happening before his muscles ever responded to his mind's commands; I pulled my arm out of his grip effortlessly, twirling around to face him, my stone-hard leg blocking his, planted firmly. I hissed in delight at his astonishment, at how his heart began to pound even more rapidly, galloping in fear. I smelled the sweat break out on him.

His eyes widened at my speed and strength, his mouth opening just a bit, "_Que diable fais-tu?_" he managed to say, his voice sounding strangled. _What the devil are you doing?_

I smiled wickedly at him, laying the full force of my black eyes and glittering, sharp teeth on him, and I caressed his stubbly cheek with one icy-cold finger, breathing my venom-sweet breath into his face. I'm sure he did think I was the devil indeed.

"_Je fais ce qui aurait dû faire depuis longtemps._" _I'm doing what should have been done long ago._

He never even had time to scream.

I am a very neat hunter, I never shed an unnecessary drop of blood or cause an instant more of pain than is necessary. Normally. I normally would take my victims, unsavory characters though they were, by surprise…It caused a lot of pain on my part, even when killing a criminal, to have them look me in the eyes, to see what was killing them, what was taking their lives…That the executioner was me.

But I let _him_ watch me. And he saw everything as I drained his life, his eyes bulging almost out of their sockets, his hands clawing at me uselessly, his heels banging against the floor in anguish…

When it was over and I was satiated, I stood up with a sigh, straightening my coat and smoothing down my skirt. I glanced down at my arms where his fingers had been clutching me, and knew I'd never wear that coat again. Not with those memories indelibly engraved on my mind.

I left him where he lay, among the tawdry, trashy remains of his misspent life.

I returned to my lovely little suite on Rue de Paradis, and watched the sun rise over the Seine, finally feeling like I could do something with myself. The thirst was quenched, and one less rapist and murderer was roaming the streets of the lovely city I'd adopted as my temporary home.

I checked the papers for the next several days and found nothing about his murder. I supposed no one missed him.

Even so, knowing that I'd done the right thing, that I'd managed to quench my thirst for a while and at the same time done Paris a good deed in ridding it of Arnaud…even so, I felt the weight of another death inside me.

Even being a do-gooder wasn't enough. A murderous Robin Hood. But I could hold on a while longer, until I found my Jasper, and we found the ones who would show us how to live differently.

I could live with it until then.

The next several years passed in a blur. I got to know Paris as intimately as I'd known New York, and I loved it.

I found another little café, like my old one in New York, but instead of coffee I was served espresso…which I still dumped into a handy potted plant. This café offered outdoor seating when the weather was good, and I enjoyed taking my undrunk demitasse into the fresh air and watching the passersby, like I had in New York.

Parisians were much more cosmopolitan and polished than New Yorkers, but deep down inside humans would always be humans, full of their petty differences and shortcomings, but also full of good things as well. As I watched them every day, observing them, watching the pictures that their brief lives created in my mind, I began to understand them more and more…and to understand myself, as well.

For I'd been human once, obviously, even though I didn't remember it, and I had to have something in me that was like them, something that made me human in a way still. I studied their faces, listened to their voices and watched them as they went about their daily business. When I left my café I would go to the parks, to the museums, to study them more. I wanted to get to know humans, to get to know myself. Even though I wasn't human any more, the basic template of humanity was still there, within me, and I had to find out as much about it as I could.

I passed my days and nights with many kinds of activities. I sat in my café in the mornings, visited museums and parks and art exhibitions. I enrolled in evening courses at the Sorbonne, where I took classes on the Classics and languages and philosophy and mathematics and sciences…Knowledge thrilled me. Then, once I'd gotten through the basic subjects, I moved on to more exciting things like fashion design and history and art. I excelled in pencil and charcoal sketches, and loved to design clothes. Chanel was my idol.

My mind absorbed information at a shocking rate; I learned at an amazing rate and with great ease, even complicated things like advanced mathematics. My French matured rapidly, until even Parisians couldn't tell that I was a foreigner; I gobbled up Spanish and Latin and Greek in days, expanding my horizons to include more exotic languages, like Arabic and Mandarin. I ate up the emerging theories of physics and astronomy and evolution and biology and geology, and read the ancient and more modern philosophers until I felt I was bursting with information and ideas. But it all helped me to understand humans more, to place myself better in this world that they peopled.

It also helped to increase my growing sense of guilt about my…dietary requirements.

When I grew too thirsty to contain myself, I would steal off in the night to any of my favorite haunts. The Moulin Rouge was just one; there were several other dance and burlesque halls that were patronized by the kind of seedy, shady types that I preferred. The Folies Bergere and the Casino of Paris all had plenty of likely targets, all there for the same thing: women, wine, and song…and perhaps a bit of mayhem. I got very good at my stalking; I would sometimes venture out and look for a likely mark, studying him, until I had a good sense of what I was hunting. Then I would play the helpless innocent to their overbearing cad, or I might sometimes branch out and play the daring woman of the night, in search of a likely man…It was great fun, in the moment.

But it was also terribly depressing, the morning after.

I would always look at my pale face in the mirror, my red eyes blazing, and remember that the warmth I felt coursing through me was only borrowed--or more aptly, stole, and the fact that my thirst wasn't raging like a caged lion, was due to the ending of another person's life. Even the fact that it was a criminal, a lout, a rapist, a murderer, a thief who had fed me didn't really matter anymore…ultimately, none of it truly mattered, because who was I to pass judgment?

I was a predator, of course. I couldn't change that. And humans were my prey. Could I change _that_? What other substitute could there possibly be? I had heard that they were experimenting with storing human blood, tobe used in medical procedures...was that the answer? I doubted it. My ventures into philosophy, and my trying to understand the humans, was trapping me in a legalistic, moral web, from which I didn't see any good escape.

I thought a great deal about my golden-eyed family that awaited me, years in the future away, but still so tantalizingly close. I would lay in my bed during the days and let the visions play before my closed eyelids, sinking into the familiar trance, concentrating on savoring each image, each sound and thought. Trying to know them better, to figure them out, the way I had taken to trying to understand the humans around me. Perhaps I could figure out the answer to my problem on my own, perhaps I didn't have to wait to meet them in the flesh?

I had distinguished several members of the family, and after time I learned their names, as I had learned Jasper's.

_Carlisle. _Something told me he was the head of the family, though he looked scarcely older than me; his eyes were wise and full of compassion. I saw him laboring day and night in hospitals and clinics, healing the sick and injured mortals, never partaking of their blood. I saw him reading, writing, always learning, as I was trying to do. I saw him loving his family, the members of which he gathered around him one by one, out of loneliness and compassion and the desire for giving and receiving love. I loved him even though I'd never met him, and for the first time I thought of a word I'd never identified with any man before, to my memory: _father._

_Esme._ If Carlisle was the father, she was the mother. Tiny and delicate, soft, compassionate and caring…I felt her affection even in my visions, and longed to be able to meet her, to experience what a mother might feel like.

_Edward._ So handsome and intelligent, I could tell there was something special, something very different about him…Very young, but so very deep in character, striving so hard to follow after Carlisle's example…But he found it so hard to keep being good, being contrary to his nature as he saw it…I was confused by that, I didn't understand. I saw some disturbing things coming for him in the future, I saw his golden eyes reddening, saw torment changing him, saw him becoming darker…but not forever. We would be great friends, I knew, but he needed someone, something, to soften him, to help him forgive himself…

There were others coming as well, I knew, but I didn't know them yet, and I waited patiently for the visions of the other ones to clarify in detail. I had time.

One thing had been puzzling me for a very long time, since realizing that the others of my kind had the blood-red eyes like myself: why did my strange family in the future have golden eyes? What made them different? There was a key point missing, something crucial.

It was when Edward, my brother-to-be, suddenly reached the breaking point I had foreseen, that I had the beginning of my epiphany.

It was later afternoon, late summer, and Paris was hot. Even though I didn't feel the heat, I had started imitating the European humans' habit of taking a late-afternoon "nap" to get away from the heat; I used the time to think, to cast my mind out, searching for pictures that told me more about my family.

Edward. I concentrated on him. Suddenly my visions of him changed: I saw him killing people, which I had never seen before. The savage grace of his hunt amazed me, but the way he anguished over each death staggered me; I understood the guilt in taking a life, I had experienced it myself…but not like this. Not to the point where I was curled up in a ball of shame, as I saw poor Edward do, all alone in a strange place, stained with the blood of his victims.

It hit me suddenly, knocking the wind out of me, my eyes snapped open. _Then how do they live?_ I asked myself, sitting up, running my hands through my unruly hair. _How do they do it?_ _Do they simply not drink? How is that possible? Is that what makes their eyes golden, abstaining from blood?_

I jumped up from the bed, frustrated, threw on some shoes and a light jacket, and headed out into the city.

The streets were practically deserted at that time, the sunlight slanting hot and golden between the buildings, casting deep shadows between them, which I kept to as much as possible. I had hunted recently, and my eyes were very bright, and if the sunlight struck me directly…

I absently looked at the windows of the shops as I passed. Bakeries and bookstores and cafes, accountants and lawyers and clothing stores…most of them had signs in the windows advertising their closure until sunset.

I sighed, reaching out to trail my fingers across the cool glass of a pastry shop, slowing my pace to look inside. The contents of the display were beautiful and looked like they should be appetizing. It was a popular place, one I had often seen Perrine bringing boxes from to the hotel, wrapped in pink twine and emitting sweet scents. When Madame Bruyere sent up my breakfast trays in the mornings there were often croissaints or muffins or something like that on the plate. I had once tasted an éclair, and found it was not even the slightest bit appealing, like sawdust in my mouth; I'd spit the bite into a napkin in disgust, and as always had spirited the contents of the tray to the trash bin behind a restaurant near the hotel to be disposed of. I couldn't stomach human food. I wished I could.

I turned from the pastry shop window and kept walking, jamming my hands into my jacket pockets. I always wore long sleeves, even in the summer, to keep the sunlight from causing my skin to glimmer and catch any unsuspecting human eyes. As I walked I sunk into thought, still frustrated.

It didn't make sense to me, it never really had, how my future family was different. But up until recently I had simply accepted that they were different, and had gone along blithely, with the innocent acceptance of a child in church, that I would eventually understand.

But now I didn't want to wait. I wanted to know. I felt the stain on my soul spreading every time I took another human life; I felt myself growing more cold and more consumed with guilt, and felt less and less like _me_. I knew that I had several years left before the timing was right for me to meet them, my family and Jasper, but I didn't know if by then I would be…acceptable anymore. Carlisle's moral standards were so high…but he was also so compassionate…I knew I was coming to feel like Edward, and I didn't want to descend into the depths of self-loathing I saw him drowning in.

Paris was a city of scents, like any human city. As I walked I smelled my environment more clearly than I saw it, the odors as bright and discernable as colors. The dusty scent of the cobblestones and pavement baking in the sun, cooking food, human and animal sweat, burning wood and coal, flowers, spices, perfumes…and blood. Always blood. Even when humans weren't visible, I could smell them, from within their houses and businesses…

Blood. I smelled it. But…something was…different. I stopped, turned, looking in the direction the scent was coming from.

Definitely blood. But…wrong. I sniffed experimentally, inhaling deeply, tasting the scent on my tongue, trying to figure out what was wrong with it.

To my right was a butcher shop, and unlike many of the other shops around, it was open, the double doors thrown wide. The smell came from within. As I stood there a burly human man dressed in a red-stained white apron came out, wiping his sweaty forehead, clutching a broom and pail. He bent down and filled the pail from the water faucet that stuck out from the side of his shop, then went back inside; I heard a splashing sound, then a scrubbing, and a small flood of bloody water flooded from the open doors, spilling across the sidewalk, pouring into the gutter.

I watched the water, fixated. The blood swirled in crimson blooms, streaking the pavement, and there was the scent. Animal blood. It made my throat ache a bit, nothing close to the burning agony that human blood caused...but it was there...

The butcher appeared again, broom in hand, and proceeded to scrub the bloody water from the sidewalk. Apparently he'd been cleaning the floor of his shop, during the down time of the late-afternoon. He straightened for a moment and rubbed the small of his back, saw me standing there, and gave me a jaunty wave.

"Some meat, mademoiselle? I am not open, but I have some lovely new beefsteak, I just carved it a few minutes ago, very fresh! Finest quality!" he called to me, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, toward his shop.

Then it clicked. My epiphany. I finally understood.

I had been missing the answer the entire time, and I felt like a fool. How many lives could I have spared, if I'd spent more time seeking out their secret, my future family, rather than obsessing over their personal details?

I shook my head no, unable to speak for the moment, and turned and fled back to my rooms. I had to try to concentrate again, try to see something, to confirm my suspicions.

I lay back down and closed my eyes, willing myself to see something, anything, in their futures that would help me.

It came after a while. I had grown so attuned to these people I had never met, more than I had ever been before. It came fast and hard and clear, the images I needed.

_Carlisle and Esme, running, exuberant, across a frozen tundra…Laughing and holding hands, snow puffing up with their every step, sparkling in the dim midwinter daylight…Alaska. They were in Alaska. And their eyes…their eyes were dark, almost black. How strange! Were they thirsty? I fought to keep up with them._

_Carlisle stopped suddenly, cocking his head, inhaling the freezing cold air, eyes closing in concentration…He was tracking. Esme beside him, their hands still locked together, did the same, her full lips curling in a predatory smile of pleasure…they smelled…blood?_

_And then, in a flash, they were off again, even faster, and I trailed after them in my vision, my breathing coming faster in anticipation of what I would see._

_Then it was there, the bear, a huge white monster, rearing up above a frozen hummock, roaring his defiance at the scent of the approaching beings, predators like himself…But he was no match for them, Carlisle and Esme were upon him like lightning, and their growls drowned his, the massive bear collapsing into the snow, his bright red blood spattering the ground, hissing steam from the droplets…They were drinking him!_

_Their eyes meeting over the carcass of their kill, they smiled at each other, lost in each others' eyes in love, and their hands met again, buried in the bear's white fur that seemed dark against their gleaming marble hands…Their eyes were so golden, so golden now…_

My eyes snapped open again, but this time in joy. I had it! I understood now!

I would never kill another human being, ever again.

Paris took on even more joy to me after that. I no longer had to frequent seedy bars and smoky clubs; I no longer had to trail after evil men and afterward mourn for them and for my own lack of self-control. It wasn't easy, learning to direct my thirst, to accept a poor substitute for what was so very fulfilling…The thirst was always worse than before now, but it was worth it. My eyes were even turning gold. I actually stared at myself int he mirror with something akin to pleasure, instead of vague disgust. Soon I would hardly need to keep inside during the day, unless it was terribly sunny out.

I made my hunting runs outside of the city, for there was little game to be found nearby. The forests around Paris were shrinking as the humans cut down more and more trees, but I managed to find herds of deer and even a few wolves and bears, the further out from the cities that I ventured.

It was exhilarating, the freedom from the feelings associated with murder. I had never realized how much it had burdened me, perhaps because I wasn't used to identifying the emotions, which were buried inside me with my human instincts.

I loved the thrill of the hunt now, it felt so innocent, to streak after the terrified herds of deer, to choose my prey, to drink…even though it wasn't nearly as satisfying as human blood, it still met my needs. And I wasn't a danger to those around me any longer.

By the time I had made those important changes in my life, four years had passed. It was amazing how time flew by, and how full my days and nights were.

I still lived with the Bruyeres, who were the best kind of people: kind, considerate, efficient, and most of all, they minded their own business. I was asked no strange questions; Madame took my rent money every month with a smile and a nod, but never tried to become involved in my life.

I got to know the whole family. Besides Madame Bruyere and Perrine were Celestine and Louis, Madame's grown children, who both worked in the hotel. Perrine's parents had died, apparently. His father, Perrine Senior, Madame's eldest son, had been a soldier in the Great War in 1916; he had been terribly injured, rendering him unable to walk, and had died a few years later of complications from his old wounds, when Perrine's mother, Paulette, had been pregnant with their son. Paulette had developed pneumonia when Perrine was only three years old and had died as well. Poor Perrine, he had never really known his parents.

Madame Bruyere told me all this one day early on in my stay with them, while she was cleaning my rooms—which were, of course, already clean. I was by nature a neat creature, and vampire skin doesn't shed to become dust like human skin. She had flitted about with her unnecessary feather duster, telling me all about her family.

"We come from Nice originally, of course, but my Grand-Pere moved us here after the Great War. He was a tailor, an excellent one, specializing in men's suits, and my Grand-Mere was a seamstress of the finest quality, she sewed gowns for all the ladies at court, before and after the Revolution," she had said, smoothing the drapes. "When we came to Paris, they bought this building, which was practically worthless, and they made it something again." She smiled proudly, her gaze faraway with her memories.

I sat on my bed, knees drawn up to my chest, my arms wrapped around them, fascinated. "And are you still tailors and seamstresses? Is that why your hotel is called Hotel of the Tailors?" I had long wondered about the name, and the sign, with its needle and thread. Since my awakening, I had been fascinated by clothing, and wanted to learn more about human fashion and the art of making clothes.

Madame Bruyere smiled. "Of course, mademoiselle, we have never left our roots!" She indicated the drapes, then the coverlet on the bed that I never slept in, and the embroidered cloths on the table tops. "The hands of my family have touched everything in this place, and we still make clothes, of course. My children have a small shop downtown." Her smile was fiercely proud. "They just took a commission from the wife of the Prime Minister last week! And all the great designers bring them piece work. Why, just last week, Madame Chanel herself hired Celestine to work part-time in her atelier!"

I nodded, fascinated. "And Perrine? Will he follow in the family's footsteps?" I thought of the little boy's quick, graceful hands, and his eye for detail.

She grinned. "Ah, my Perrine…" She gave the drapes a final pat and came to sit down on the edge of the bed. "So sad, my poor boy's story, but his heart is like gold, yes? And so smart. So very smart."

I agreed with her, thinking about him. He was so solicitous and kind, always making sure I was comfortable.

"His mother loved him so, she wanted Perrine to be a soldier like his Papa, but I don't think that will happen. He is not the kind of boy to go to war. He is sensitive and creative, don't you think?"

I laughed. "Very! Just yesterday he spent an hour going through my wardrobe and helping me get rid of the things he said were out of style!"

Madame Bruyere chuckled. "Yes, he has an excellent eye for such things. Clothing speaks to him. I think his uncle will be taking him to the shop soon, to learn the trade. I don't want him wasted as a bellboy or tour guide, eh?"

"Absolutely not."

She sighed and stood up, smoothing her skirt. "Perhaps you can go down to the shop with him, mademoiselle? You seem to enjoy clothing," she suggested, cocking her head to the side, birdlike.

"I'd love to!" And I did. We made plans for me to accompany Perrine to their family's tailor shop the next day in the morning.

The next morning dawned beautifully. It was springtime in Paris, my favorite time of year. The cherry trees were blooming all along the avenues, filling the air with their fragrant blossoms; it was warm, but not oppressively so. The people were out in droves, smiling with the loveliness of the day, as were Perrine and I as we strolled along together.

The Bruyere's shop was on the Champs Elysees, which was a grand and sprawling avenue, but their shop was in a more quiet area, between a wineseller's and a bookshop. The storefront was neat, the window bright and spotless, and the sign on the door matched the elegant lettering on the hotel's, with the spool of thread and needles curling around the letters announcing Bruyere's Tailoring and Fine Custom Clothing.

The shop was small but elegant, and it smelled wonderful inside, a mixture of candlewax, potpourri, silk, satin and good wool and linen. Bolts of fabric were jammed into a huge shelf lining two walls; the other two walls were taken up by mannequins in various stages of undress, a few pieces of good furniture and potted plants, and a long, wooden counter polished to a glossy sheen. Perrine's uncle, Louis, sat cross-legged on the counter, his shirt sleeves rolled up above his elbows, pins gripped between his bared teeth, a measuring tape hanging around his neck, his hands and eyes intent on the suit jacket that he was working on. He looked up when we entered and grinned. He was a nice-looking human, in his forties, with salt-and-pepper hair and bright brown eyes like his nephew.

"Ah, Perrine, and Mademoiselle Alice! I am so glad to see you!" he cried, putting aside the jacket and hopping down from the counter, plucking the pins from his mouth. He held out his arms and Perrine launched himself into them; I watched them, touched by the affection, and felt a bit lonely—but at the same time so happy that Perrine had such a loving family.

I could barely wait to have that myself.

Louis swung his nephew around and set him down on the counter, looking back at me, still smiling. "So, Mademoiselle, what can I do for you today? Would you like me to measure you for a new dress? Celestine has some new patterns from Chanel just yesterday, and some lovely gold crepe de chine, it would go so well with your eyes!" He looked me up and down, measuring me with his sharp, experienced eyes; unlike the times other men had looked at me, such as at the Moulin Rouge, I didn't feel violated. I had a feeling he could make me a dress that would fit perfectly just from the measurements his eyes were taking.

I laughed, shaking my head. "Perhaps another time, Monsieur Bruyere," I replied. "Madame Bruyere thought I might enjoy seeing your shop and seeing how you work, and since Perrine here will be learning the business now, that I could walk him here, and observe."

Louis nodded, reaching over to ruffle his nephew's hair fondly. "Yes, I think Perrine here will be an excellent tailor, he has good hands, good eyes."

I laughed. "Indeed! He just went through my wardrobe the other day and told me which things I needed to toss out, because they were out of style!"

He joined my laughter, hopping back up onto the counter beside Perrine, and taking up the jacket once more. "Well then, Mademoiselle, feel free to look around. The showroom is through there," he gestured with his chin toward a closed door to the right of the counter, "and has some of the finer examples of our works in progress."

I eagerly went into the showroom, which was much like the shop itself. I hadn't noticed it because the showroom window was after the entrance to the shop. It was larger and more open, the ceiling higher, the warm morning light streaming in through the wide plate glass window and throwing the textures and colors of the fabrics into glowing detail.

Mannequins and dress forms were posed everywhere; I ran my delighted fingers over lovely cocktail dresses and elegant fancy-dress gowns, fingered the weave of the knits and embroideries. Everything was impeccably tailored, the details perfect.

Louis had spoken of having some new designs by Chanel…I walked across the room to the far wall, where a large framed display of fashion plates hung. Many were signed by the famous lady who had revolutionized human fashion in the past twenty years. I sighed. How I would love to meet her.

"Mademoiselle Alice?" a feminine voice intruded into my thoughts. I spun around, a little startled; I hadn't heard the door from the shop open.

Celestine, Perrine's aunt, stood in the doorway, smiling at me. She was a tall, slim woman, her dark brown hair pulled up into a chignon, dressed in a smartly tailored coral-colored wool suit, the hem ending at her shapely knees. "I apologize, did I startle you?" she asked, eyebrows raised.

I laughed. "Only a little, but it's all right, I was just lost in these prints…" I reached back and touched the framed picture. "I love Chanel's designs."

Celestine nodded eagerly. "I know, Perrine has told me, Mademoiselle, and that is why I came to you just now," she said, a wide smile showing her teeth. "I wanted to ask you, would you like to meet her? She is here, just now, and I thought…"

I had a hard time keeping myself to normal human speed as I crossed the room and allowed Celestine to accompany me back into the shop.

There she stood, by the counter, leaning casually against it, chatting with Louis.

She was a small woman, dark-haired, not beautiful in a conventional way, but her features were noble and her eyes were captivating, flashing with intelligence and charm. She was dressed in one of her own suits, the same type of design Celestine wore, with its menswear-inspired, angular shape. A strand of pearls hung around her neck, and her marcelled hair gleamed in soft curls against her forehead in the warm light of the morning. She turned and looked at me, smiling.

I was speechless.

At the Sorbonne, I had taken a few courses on fashion design, and knew that the woman standing before me had done more for women's liberation than anyone would ever imagine. She had helped free human women from corsets and bustles and long skirts, had allowed them to show their legs and the arms, had made fashion fun. I had several of her original, older pieces hanging in my wardrobe back at the hotel.

"Good morning, Madame Chanel," I finally managed. She straightened from leaning against the counter and extended her hand to shake mine. "My name is Alice, and I stay with the Bruyeres. I am...well, Madame, I am one of your biggest fans!" I cursed myself silently; I sounded like a lovesick teenager.

But she didn't seem to care. "Good morning, Mademoiselle Alice, Louis and Celestine were telling me that you are an admirer of my work," she murmured, her voice rich and low. I had rarely heard a human with such a lovely voice. Her dark eyes looked me up and down with the same measuring glance as Louis had before. "I see you have good taste, besides in my designs." She arched one smooth eyebrow, one corner of her mouth quirking up in a slight smile, looking down at my gloved hands. "Although…gloves in the springtime aren't exactly…in fashion?" Her eyes locked on mine, held them. "And such eyes...how...interesting, I have never seen such a color before...Is it from your family?"

I would have blushed if I could have. I had thrown on a simple wrap dress that morning, a chenille sweater…and white gloves. I always wore gloves when I could, to keep my cold skin from alarming anyone with an inadvertent icy touch. I struggled for a moment to find an explanation that she might accept. And my eyes...she was so observant!

"Well, Madame, I have poor circulation…my hands are always very cold." I bit my lip. "And the color of my eyes, I get that from my grandmother."

Perrine laughed. "That's right, Madame Coco, she has hands like ice!" he crowed, kicking his heels against the counter.

She chuckled and let my hand go. "So, Mademoiselle, Celestine tells me you have an interest in fashion?"

I nodded, glad the cold hands and golden eyes issue was past. "Yes, Madame, I have taken some classes at the Sorbonne, and have always loved clothing. Yours especially!"

Madame Chanel nodded. "There are some excellent professors there." She turned and looked at Celestine. "So, Celestine, shall we? It is getting toward lunchtime, and I must return to the atelier and get some things done." Then she turned again and looked at me. "So, mademoiselle Alice, would you like to come as well? See the atelier?"

I thought I might jump out of my skin, and nodded so violently my teeth fairly rattled. She laughed kindly at my eagerness.

"Well then, shall we, ladies?" Coco Chanel held out her arm for me to put mine through it, and the other for Celestine. "The day is wasting, and we have the world to conquer, eh?"

And so we went out into the warm Paris sunshine, arm-in-arm. I felt as if I were walking on air.

Then began the happiest period of my life…up until the day I looked into Jasper's eyes for the first time.

I was finally finding my place in the world, and finding myself in the process.


	6. Chapter 6: Road to Perdition

Chapter 6: Road to Perdition

Her eyes were like flaming coals in the darkness as she smiled at me, her teeth glinting in the faint glow from the few stars weakly shining down on us. The night was fading. Her scent drifted toward me on the cool summer pre-dawn breeze, cinnamon and cloves and eucalyptus, as well as the scents of the desert, stone and dust and dried grass and creosote, all wrapping me like a warm blanket. I crouched down, waiting, watchful.

I took a deep breath, inhaling all the scents around me, my skin vibrating with the sensation of movement from the others as they surrounded me. I could just barely see them as they circled me, but I could keenly feel their animosity, their determination to rip me limb from limb, as if they were my own emotions; I could hear their eager breathing and their low-pitched growls and hisses, and hear their feet shuffling through the dry summer grass as they tried to flank me.

"Make me proud, Jasper," Maria murmured huskily, and chuckled, drawing back into the darkness. "Make me proud." I heard the whisper of her skirts as she retreated.

She was leaving me alone with them all, to see whether I would triumph or fail.

My whole body tensed, freezing into the utter and complete stillness that I was so familiar with now, the state of total sensory awareness that enabled me to analyze everything going on around me, to respond properly.

Even as hyper-aware as I was, focused on my surroundings, my mind was still capable of wandering.

Despite my earlier despair and horror at what I had become, I had adapted well to my new…life. I suppose "life" is the only word one could use to describe my existence, although I knew I was technically more dead than alive in most people's estimation.

Maria had made me what I was. She had taken me from the life I had known and condemned me to this…existence as this strangely beautiful and horrifying creature that I saw whenever I looked into a mirror…which didn't happen often anymore. It shook me to my core, to see my eyes red as blood, my skin so glitteringly pale, my face so different than it had been before.

I had to admit, though, that the strength and speed and heightened senses were thrilling. I exulted in all of those things, the natural huntsman and soldier in me breaking free of the restraints my humanity had imposed on me before and taking over in fierce glory. I was now a fighting, hunting, killing machine, and it was glorious when the frenzy took me, the sheer abandon of it.

Maria had told me upon waking from the burning hell of the transformation that I was now immortal, that I was something that was usually called a "vampire." I had never heard the word before; raised by no-nonsense Protestant parents in the wilds of Texas, I hadn't been exposed to much superstition, and that was before Bram Stoker wrote his famous tale of the vampire Dracula and popularized the idea of us, as erroneous as the myths were about our weaknesses. Although the idea of living forever was reassuring in some ways, the fact that I was no longer the _me _that I had been for my entire life was truly and profoundly disturbing at the times when I allowed myself to dwell on it. My mind was so vast and clinical now, and the thirst…Well, the thirst was profoundly disturbing, too.

But how I loved the taste of human blood.

I was ashamed of it deep down, but I pushed the shame aside at the first scent of blood. The heat of it pulsing through the veins of my prey was like a drug to me, causing the venom to well sweet in my mouth, my breath coming faster in anticipation, my body responding instinctually…

Suddenly I wrenched myself from my reverie. They were coming at me.

The first one came at me from the left, shooting out of the dimness. I heard his growl, felt the movement of his body in the air, his arms outstretched, fingers hooked into claws…

It was a simple matter to take him in the fraction of a second. My body responded with unimaginable speed, my arms closing around him in mid-air, crushing his arms into his torso, as his momentum propelled us into the others who were advancing toward us from the opposite side. They hissed in shock, pulling away, trying to get a better bead on me.

I rolled in the dirt struggling with the other vampire, and our growls and curses filled the night. But it was over quickly. The man knew nothing of fighting hand-to-hand; my father's lessons came back to me from the cloudy memories of my childhood, surfacing in the movements of my steel muscles as if they had always been there. After a second or so I had managed to get to my feet, hauling him up with me, and with one hand ripped his screaming head free of his neck with a grinding screech. I cast the head from me.

It rolled in the dust, mouth open, still screaming soundlessly.

I kicked it away into the night with a scornful laugh, and turned to the others, who held back, eyes wide in sudden fear. I felt the frenzy roaring inside me, the delight in the successful kill. I felt so very _alive_.

"Come on now, don't be shy!" I mocked them, and proceeded to tear the headless corpse into shreds before their rolling red eyes.

They backed away from me, staring, shaking their heads. One was a woman, the other two men. None of them looked as if they'd ever done anything useful in their previous lives; I doubted they would be much good at fighting. Perhaps it was arrogance, but I knew I could take them all easily, despite the odds and their newborn strength.

I cast aside the remains of the man I had just destroyed and beckoned to the others. "Let's dance, shall we?" I hissed, and crouched down in preparation.

They fled into the night. My laughter followed them.

"Very good, Jasper…Very good indeed," Maria's voice purred, her lips brushing my ear. I shivered at the touch and at her proximity, drawing away a little to stare down at her. She was standing beside me; I hadn't been aware of her approaching in my concentration on the fleeing vampires.

She nudged a glittering, quivering piece of the vampire I'd just shredding with the toe of her shoe, a faint grimace of disgust crossing her lovely face. "Dispose of…this, please, Jasper, and then let's get back, shall we?" Her full lips curled into a catlike smile, her eyes sparkling up at me like rubies. I shivered. "I can think of much more entertaining things to do than stay out here and watch Randall try to put himself back together, can't you?"

She threw her head back and laughed, a full-bodied sound like a chorus of bells, and her glossy black hair shimmered in the moonlight. She was beautiful, I had to give her that. And very…appealing. I could feel her desire for me emanating from her in waves, like heat from an oven in winter. It was hard to resist. She _knew_ things, knew how to make me feel so good…

But at times she still gave me a creeping, foreboding sensation that I couldn't shake, no matter how much I tried to. And somehow, it felt _wrong_ to be with her. I felt incomplete, felt incomplete even with Maria, as if she was the wrong piece to fit into the puzzle of my life.

I heaved a sigh and fell to the unpleasant task of gathering poor Randall up into a pile and setting him afire. As I watched the heavy purple smoke billow up into the brightening sky I tried to remember my life as it had been, to think back to a time when taking a life had meant more to me. It was very hard, but I tried as often as I could to rehash my memories, to keep them alive and not cloud over like Maria said they would with time. I replayed my whole mortal life in my mind in the course of a few seconds.

Maria and her friends had met me on the road coming back from Houston. I have told that story before; let it suffice to say that my gentleman's sense of honor in the presence of several beautiful and bewitching women was just one of the whole slew of mistakes I made that night. The first mistake had been to try to hurry back to Galveston. The second was to stop and offer help to those women, who had seemed so helpless, when they were far from it. The third had been to not try to run away when she turned her glittering smile upon me…although I knew now that it would have made no difference, except that running away might have made me Maria's meal instead of her slave and lover.

I stayed with her because I didn't know where else to go or what to do with myself. Also, because she said she loved me, and that she needed me. That I was valuable and important. Those things were true, in a way, but at the same time, I could feel how shallow those feelings were; they barely masked the cold determination and cruelty that lay beneath them. And Maria's love was not anything I had ever experienced before. I knew that it wasn't simple lust, although there was plenty of that, I knew she did care for me…But I had been realizing more and more lately that she cared for me like a useful tool, or a favorite pet or mount, or a prized possession.

You see, I had always known I had something different about me. My talent for picking up on the feelings of others, and for being able to subtly manipulate them, had been amplified a hundred-fold upon my awakening from the agonizing inferno of the change. I could feel the emotions of those around me, and I could manipulate them with ease, if I chose, in an almost tangible and powerful way. It was gratifying at times, but more often it was burdensome, for I'd always been the kind of person who was more restrained and moderate emotionally: now, the feelings of others bombarded me like a plague of buzzing, biting flies, and made it hard sometimes to distinguish what _I_ was feeling from what _they_ were feeling.

I heard Maria humming behind me and sensed her impatience growing. I turned from the bonfire that had been Randall, dusting off my hands on my pants, pasting a smile onto my face. "All done, my love, are you ready now?" I murmured, holding out my hand.

She grinned merrily and took it in hers, adjusting the black shawl around her shoulders, the red silk fringe of it falling down her back, almost matching the color of her eyes. "Yes, my darling, I am more than ready," she purred, reaching up to caress my cheek, her hand trailing down my neck and onto my chest. Her touch left a river of fire in its wake. I felt her desire increase, and my body responded eagerly.

She laughed, and the sound was mocking and delighted.

We took off at a run, eating up the miles with our graceful loping pace. After a few minutes Monterrey lay before us, and the sun was just peeking over the horizon behind us. We paused on the ridge above the city, looking down at the whitewashed adobe buildings with their red tile roofs coming alight in the daylight.

I turned and looked at Maria, feeling her pride and covetousness swelling; she was staring down at the city with undisguised longing. She was breathtaking in the dawn sunlight, her skin sparkling like diamonds, her hair like jet, her eyes rubies: she looked like a jeweled Madonna, tiny and silent as she glared down at the city stretched below us, but where a Madonna was serene, she was savage in her beauty.

"I swear to you, Jasper, that I shall possess that city again. Soon." Her voice, normally so silken, beguiling with its latin accent, came out in a gravelly growl. Her lips parted, her teeth bare in a threatening smile that held no humor or warmth. She turned her flaming eyes to mine, placing both of her hands against my chest, looking up at me. "And you will help me, Jasper. You are my secret weapon."

I sighed silently, trying to keep my feelings from showing on my face. She had said this many times before in the past several months. No matter how much I enjoyed the heat of the battle, I still disliked being used. And no matter how much I wanted to please her for some odd reason, I still didn't like being manipulated. I reached out and traced the fall of hair across her forehead with one finger.

"Why are you so obsessed with this city, Maria? Can't we just go somewhere else together, start fresh?"

She shook her head savagely. "No!" Her lip curled in a sneer. "They cast me out before, and I swore I would have my revenge, and reclaim my city. And you and Nettie and Lucy and our little army will make that possible, Jasper!"

I looked back over my shoulder, where I could hear the sounds of someone coming. I could see a faint cloud of dust in the distance; from the speed of the approach, I knew it wasn't human or horse. It had to be Nettie and Lucy catching up with us. Still, I positioned myself protectively in front of Maria, in case it was someone else.

After a moment Nettie and Lucy and the three that I had frightened off stopped before us, not a hair out of place. The two blondes were grinning merrily; I could feel their glee, and knew that the other three must have told their story of me frightening them away. Maria laughed from behind me, curling her cool fingers around my forearm possessively, resting her cheek against my shoulder.

"So good of you to join us, ladies," she said cheerfully.

Nettie grinned at her, straightening her elegant blue dress. She was very blonde, gorgeous, her hair almost white, blazing in the early morning sunlight; her eyes, brilliant red, contrasted sharply against her sparkling ivory skin. "Yes, and we brought…these…back with us." She indicated the three cowards who were trying to hide behind her and Lucy, shaking her head in disgust.

Lucy joined in, her voice like wind chimes. She was taller than Nettie, a bit darker blonde, and just as lovely in her dusky rose dress. "Yes, we came across their paths as we were coming to join you two, they were running like scared rabbits!" She looked at me in innocent wonder. "Whatever did you do to them, Jasper?"

I sighed again. "Maria," I replied shortly.

Maria chuckled, rubbing my arm. "Well, ladies, I wanted to see how he'd fare against a multiple attack…after all, he was a soldier before, and has proven to be such a wonderful fighter…I've put a lot of work into him so far, but you never know how someone will respond to a new, unknown threat." She patted me possessively. "He is my secret weapon, and weapons must be tested, to prove their mettle."

I rolled my eyes. "Well, Maria, if you're looking for other soldiers for your army, those three are poor choices." I jabbed my finger at the cowards; they drew back further behind Nettie and Lucy, who cackled merrily and stepped aside, making them vulnerable. "Especially the woman. She is completely useless. No fighting instinct, even now. Let her go."

The woman in question stared at me with terrified crimson eyes, drawing back from my gaze, but I could feel the eagerness and hope spring up in a blaze inside her at the thought of being allowed to leave Maria's little entourage.

Maria just smiled her cat-in-the-cream smile and kept patting my shoulder. "Oh, don't worry, Jasper my love, we'll find more soon…and _you_ will be the one to select them, and train them." She snapped her fingers at the men who flanked the woman, gesturing toward her vaguely. "You. Get rid of her, boys. We'll only recruit more men, I think, from now on."

With a snarl and a screech, the woman was torn to shreds and set afire with much less grace than Randall. I shuddered and turned away. It was still so strange and foreign, repulsive, to me, to see violence done to women. But Maria was more violent than any man I had ever known; she had taught me many of the fighting techniques I had learned: I would not want to face her in a fight unprepared. She was like a raging whirlwind, all ripping claws and savage teeth, and faster than the wind.

I felt a sinking sensation inside me as I watched the purple smoke spiral up into the sky, thinking about Maria's words. So I would be the one to pick who would be condemned to the kind of existence I was now trapped in…until it was their turn to die in service to Maria. I shivered again and tried to push it out of my mind.

This was my life now. I had better get used to it.

We left the vista of Monterrey and retreated to our newest hideout, in the foothills of the Sierra Madre Oriental Mountains that overshadowed the city itself. Monterrey was, and still is, a beautiful city, worth fighting for, I suppose. Rich in culture and historical heritage, it is also a thriving city full of humans of all kinds…and Maria wanted it back again. She was constructing an army to take it from the vampires that had taken it from her a few years ago, she said.

There had been six of us, total, when I had first been transformed and "joined" Maria's little army on the road between Galveston and Houston. It had been me, Maria, Lucy, Nettie, the now-deceased Randall, and one of the two cowardly men, whose name I don't care to work to remember.

Maria and the rest had been ranging all up and down Texas and northern Mexico, "recruiting," as Maria called it. Within two weeks of my awakening, Maria and the girls had brought back another four men, other soldiers like myself, Mexican and American, swelling our numbers to ten. They had brought the men, still human, to the warren of caves that pockmarked the mountains which had become our hideout, along with me and the others, and had hidden the men in some of the caves-- where their screams weren't so bothersome as they transformed.

Once the men had emerged from the burning, Maria had quickly set to instructing us in how to fight.

"You see, my lovelies, you are soldiers, and you are in _my_ army now. You will fight _when_ I say, and you will fight _whom_ I say, and you will make me proud, yes?" she had growled to us, stalking back and forth before us like a preoccupied cat, her eyes flashing. "So you will have to learn from me, from us," she jerked her head back to indicate Nettie and Lucy, who perched nearby, watching eagerly, "how to fight properly."

I had been entranced by her. In the days between my awakening and arriving in the caves above Monterrey, Maria had been everything to me. Her beauty and spirit were bewitching, her strength beguiling…and her lust tamed me, caged me. I had never experienced anything like it in my mortal life, and my new immortal body was possessed by such carnal cravings as I'd never dreamed could exist. It was impossible to resist her when she had crooked her finger at me, summoning me to her bed. I was hers, and knew nothing else but her.

She had shown me how to hunt humans, how to track and bring them down without attracting too much notice, how to dispose of the bodies afterward. She and I had shared my first meal, our eyes meeting over the bloodless corpse of a man, and she had smiled that glittering smile at me that had made the breath catch in my throat and the all-consuming passion spread through my body. "So now you know how it's done, my Jasper, let's find you one of your very own, shall we?" she had murmured. I obeyed without question, my newborn mind and body adrift in the flood of sensations and feelings coursing through it. It had been so very hard to control myself back then.

That had been a few months ago, that first shared meal with Maria. Since then, things had settled down quite a bit for me; I had gained a lot more control over my body and mind, and had become more aware of my unique power and how to use it. Now sometimes I could control her, instead of the opposite.

At that first group battle lesson, she had soundly beaten us all. Without even a tear in her fancy white dress or a hair awry, Maria had left seven grown men on their rear ends in the dirt, sore from head to toe. I had no idea how she'd done it, but the humiliation at having been beaten by a woman seared inside me, and I had vowed to learn as fast as I could, and to eventually best her. I consoled myself with the thought that I had _allowed_ her to beat me, that I hadn't given the fight my all, since she was a woman. Once glance and a quick feel of the emotional atmosphere from the men around me reassured me that they all felt the same way, and were thinking about the same things I was.

However, the second, third, and fourth lessons had all ended the same. Maria had cursed us in her screeching, broken-glass voice, calling us worthless and useless. It had stung.

Then, finally, on the fifth lesson, I managed to pin her.

Gazing up at me from the ground, her black curls tumbled all around her porcelain face, she had grinned up at me, her brilliant red eyes caressing my face. "Now then, my Jasper, that is much better!" she'd whispered, and kissed me soundly. It was a worthy reward.

She never beat me again—but it was always a close fight. I hated battling her.

And a few days after that first defeat at my hands, she'd taken me out into the pre-dawn desert and thrown the four other newborns at me, to test me. Apparently I'd passed the test, because things intensified after that.

After that, I was the one to teach the other men. We fought each other savagely, like titans, like monsters, the sounds of our granite-hard bodies crashing into each other echoing through the empty canyons of the Sierra Madre like rockslides. Maria and Nettie and Lucy would sit on a ledge overlooking the battleground and would clap gleefully at a particularly good rout, and their tinkling laughter would encourage us.

Two of the other men had taken up with the other women, although I couldn't say with any surety that the women didn't all take turns with all the men at various times. Apparently vampires are a lusty bunch. I know I was, but Maria was enough for me, and just as well: she was extremely jealous, watching my every move around the women with the sharp eyes of a hawk.

Over time, our numbers swelled. The women kept going out and bringing more men back, and often I would accompany them, to give my opinion on the choices of recruits. The men were all soldiers, Mexicans form the South and Americans from the North, taken from both sides of the War, blue or grey. I tried not to let my personal history influence my opinion of the recruits in blue. But it was hard. Their accents irritated me.

My new powers were indispensible, although I kept the realization of what I could do from her—I don't know why I hid it from her, perhaps I felt I had to keep something to myself. Once Maria had put me in charge of the troops, I used my manipulation of emotions to make sure that everyone remained as calm and focused as possible. I was able to keep even Lucy and Nettie, who were both best of friends and worst of rivals with Maria, from fighting most of the time. The others looked at me a bit in awe; they didn't know how I did it, but they knew I was in charge.

But despite my best efforts, our training battles weren't always friendly sparring matches, and my powers weren't always enough to keep things from becoming deadly. Far too often, the frenzy would overtake some of us, and men would die.

I had killed my first vampire a few days after coming to the caves. It hadn't been a planned situation, of course, but it was definitely a landmark event.

It had been one of the newborn four that Nettie and Lucy had originally brought out. He had been raving, overcome by the strength and intensity of the new life, and bloodthirsty, his faming eyes rolling wildly in their sockets. Maria had given him over to my care, telling me to take him out to feed, to show him the way things should be done.

She had also, quietly and out of the newborn's hearing, told me that if he became unmanageable that I shouldn't feel bad if I had to kill him. I had been horrified by the prospect of that, but hadn't replied at all, not wanting to risk angering her. I don't know why I was more controlled than the rest, only being a little "older" to that life than them; perhaps it was due to my unusual ability. I had certainly been a raging mess in my first couple of weeks, though, but I had matured rapidly.

The man was a mess in every way, but perhaps blood would calm him, I thought skeptically. I took him outside and into the cool desert night, led him north through the mountains toward a small village we'd staked out the day before. There were many shepherds scattered with their flocks on the slopes of the mountains surrounding the village, which lay nestled between the skirts of two jagged peaks. I crouched behind a boulder and pointed down the mountain, to where I could easily make out a smoky little campfire and the form of a man, sleeping wrapped in a serape blanket, next to it. His flock lay sleeping in little wooly hummocks all around in the darkness.

"There you go, man, let's get you something for that thirst, eh?" I said quietly to the newborn, clapping him on the shoulder in a friendly way.

He responded as if I'd shot him, pulling away with a savage snarl and turning on me. "_Don't-touch-me_!" he rasped, his chest heaving with his rapid breathing. I felt the disgust and anger and fear rolling off him in palpable waves; it turned my stomach.

"All right, all right," I whispered, holding my hands out in a gesture of surrender. "But you'll feel better once you've drank, friend."

He frantically shook his head from side to side as if his brain were full of bees struggling to escape, screwing his eyes shut, his face contorted with indecision and thirst. "What _am_ I?" he muttered, his hand going to his throat, where I could feel the thirst blazing as if it were my own. "What have you monsters made me?" He lifted his eyes to mine, baring his teeth. I backed away, knowing he was probably as strong as I, maybe more so; he was a larger man than I'd been, and I didn't know much about vampire strength yet. Quite often size doesn't matter so much.

"Hey, fellow, calm yourself. This is our life now. Maria and the other ladies will take care of us, all we have to do is listen and do what we're told, and we'll have a good life."

He didn't want to listen. He turned and looked at the sleeping shepherd below us, his eyes narrowing. The wind shifted, throwing the human's scent toward us: the smell of the man was delicious, his blood so hot and clean. I could hear the pulse at the man's neck, throbbing within me. I knew I would need to feed soon, too, but I first had to take care of the newborn's needs, help him adjust.

"Come on now, let's go down and you can get rid of the worst of that thirst, all right?" I said carefully, extending my hand to him again slowly. He let me come closer, and then we both slipped around the boulder and began to pick our way down the rocky slope, toward where the shepherd slept.

We had no more than a few yards to go before reaching the glowing circle of the man's campfire when the damn dog started barking.

The animal appeared from nowhere, a mongrel of wolf and hound mixture, his teeth bared and slavering madly as he bayed at us fiercely, his hackles raised, as if he had a particular hatred of us. I have always hated dogs ever since then.

With a gasp, the human rolled over and stood up, faster than I would have expected. He reached into his waistband and pulled out a gun, pointing it out into the darkness with a trembling hand, waving it back and forth, seeking a target. He couldn't see us there, just beyond the firelight, where we had frozen still as statues at the sound of his dog's barking, but he knew we were there.

"Quien es?" the shepherd cried, his voice shaking. The dog kept up his racket, barking again and again, growling, pacing back and forth in front of his master, his dark eyes fixed exactly on us. "Quien esta alla?" _Who is it? Who is there? _I had been learning Spanish from Maria.

I smiled over my shoulder at the other man and made a slight gesture. "Don't worry about the dog," I hissed, almost silently; the human couldn't hear me, but the dog did, and he fairly went crazy, the barking and growling escalating until I wondered if the animal was going to have some kind of seizure. "Go get him!"

The newborn eyed me reluctantly, then moved forward, and stepped into the firelight.

"Madre de Dios!" the shepherd cried, his eyes widening as he took in the vampire's red eyes and glittering skin, turned into a million diamond facets by the firelight. "Un demonio!" I heard his heartbeat speed up until it was racing so fast I could barely distinguish individual beats. He might drop dead of a heart attack if this wasn't over soon. "Alejese de mi, Diablo, por el poder de Christo!" _Get away from me, Devil, by the power of Christ!_ He was making the sign of the cross over and over again on his breast, tears springing to his eyes. He began backing away, stumbling, falling down, his eyes fixed on the newborn, huge with terror.

The newborn kept coming, and I stepped behind him, into the firelight as well; the human screamed then, scrambling backward on his hands, until he almost backed into his campfire. The dog kept up his infernal barking, and lunged toward us, making a grab for the other vampire's outstretched arms with his jagged teeth.

The vampire swatted the dog aside as if he were a moth; the animal crumpled with a whimper, just beyond the campfire's light. The human began weeping, still holding the gun aloft. I wondered absently if it was even loaded. The weapon looked older than the hills around us, rusted and pitted.

"Take him now, man, stop drawing it out!" I commanded the other vampire harshly, pushing him forward in encouragement.

With typical newborn unpredictability, he turned on me, faster than lightning, snarling. "I said _don't touch me_!" he shrieked, and lunged at me, all reason and control completely gone. I felt his resolution to kill me before he realized the thoughts.

I barely kept his teeth from my neck. We crashed into the ground beyond the firelight, and began the deadly dance of our kind that always ends in someone dead and burnt. I hadn't ever fought another vampire before then, but I had combat experience, and I knew how to keep my head in a crisis. It wasn't too hard to realize what I needed to do. Maria had told me some things already.

Grunting with effort, the other vampire kept scrabbling at my chest and shoulders, trying to get ahold of my neck; I gripped his wrists and pushed him off me, throwing him several feet away, where he leapt to his feet gracefully and launched himself at me again with hardly a pause. I was ready for him, though, catching him in midair as I later would poor Randall; I crushed the newborn's arms to his sides, flipped him around, and tore his head from his shoulders with my teeth in one smooth motion. That maneuver would become second nature to me before too long, much to my disgust.

The taste of him in my mouth was cloying; I spit into the dirt as I dispatched the rest of him, trying not to think about what I was doing, tearing the white body into pieces and tossing them into the human's campfire. Maria had told me that I needed to do that, if I ever killed another of our kind, to keep them from coming back.

All this time, although it had only been about a minute or so, the human had been cowering across the fire from us, his eyes huge and the whites showing, his whole body trembling. I felt his fear and his utter despair; the thought of running away never occurred to him, he knew he couldn't get away from me. I could hear him praying under his breath.

I sighed, shaking my head. I had so many reasons to kill the human. I could never let him get away and bear tales of the strange demons to his village; also, I was thirsty. So without much preamble, I dispatched him as quickly and as painlessly as possible, calming his terror with one last urge of emotion.

When I rejoined Maria, alone, she arched one perfect black eyebrow in question, but not in surprise. She looked at my clothing, which was torn and in disarray from the fight, and at the fresh blood on my shirt.

"So, I suppose our newborn couldn't be controlled, my love?" she asked me, running one cool finger down the line of my jawbone, her breath sweet as it washed over me. I trembled at her touch, felt the familiar heat spreading through me in its wake, every nerve in my body tingling and jarringly aware. It was so strange, to feel so many things so intensely all at once: shame, regret, satisfaction…lust.

I shook my head and looked down, not wanting to meet her eyes and see disappointment there. I was afraid she would be angry at my failing to control the other man.

She laughed. "Oh, my Jasper, what is one newborn when there are thousands of humans out there to turn? You just did me a good service, weeding out one of the uncontrollable ones. We'll be more careful from here on out, yes?"

After that, as I mentioned earlier, during the training fights, sometimes my comrades in arms wouldn't be able to control themselves, and would end up getting into real fights with each other and sometimes with me. Maria and Nettie and Lucy just clapped their hands and laughed, as if it were the best show ever, whenever we had to light another stinking bonfire and burn the remains of the losers.

"Well done, Jasper, well done!" Maria would crow, and she would reward me.

Her rewards were…well, I am a gentleman, and it's not suitable to discuss here. Let's just leave it at this: I was no longer innocent.

But besides those kinds of rewards, we were given humans, as many as we could take, their blood fortifying us. It made us stronger and faster, and my powers grew day by day as I learned to harness them. The casualties started to go down, eventually leveling out, until we had about twenty men at all times, which was a good, large force. It was also going to be impossible to keep us hidden much longer.

The vampires who controlled Monterrey surely knew we were there by then, although we were careful to never go down into the city, or even approach it. We hunted in the opposite direction of the city, taking care to hide the bodies of our prey, but after a while that many disappearances wouldn't be able to be ignored, even though the girls took care to bring as many of our prey from far away as possible.

One night, as I lay with Maria in the darkness of our own little cave, she asked me when I was going to be ready.

I looked down at her, puzzled. "Ready for what?" I asked.

She chuckled. "Ay, _querida_, ready for the battle we've been preparing for these months, of course!" She pushed up onto one elbow, tickled the end of my nose with one lock of her black hair, kissing my neck. I shivered, reached for her.

"Ah, no, darling, not right now. We must talk, first. Then…we shall see!" she giggled, pulling away from me. I groaned in protest as she pulled on her clothes again and stuffed her feet into her shoes. She came and sat down next to me again, stroking my hair, but not in a seductive way. Almost like she was grooming me. I felt her contentment and pride in me, in what we had accomplished. I also felt, beneath it, that same burning ambition and hatred, that desire for revenge and conquest. Her eyes flashed in the darkness; even though it was pitch black, I could see her clearly, sitting beside me like a china doll, white skin, flawless face, tiny.

"You are happy here with me, yes, Jasper?" she asked carefully, her fingers lingering on my lips.

I nodded. "Of course, Maria." I kissed her fingertips.

She nodded back, her full lips pursing thoughtfully. "And you would never think of leaving me, no?"

"Of course not!" I sat up, reaching out to cup her chin in my hand. "Wherever else would I go?"

But then, there it was again: that pang I always felt when I thought of spending forever with Maria. That feeling of something that was almost pain, a pain that seemed to illuminate the emptiness inside my soul, showing me that half of it was missing. That this was _wrong_. That _she_ was wrong for me. That what I was _doing_ was wrong. I stuffed it down, struggled to keep the emotion from showing on my face.

She didn't seem to realize what was going on inside me, her ruby eyes gazing off into the darkness, deep in thought, far away. Finally she seemed to come back to herself with a jolt, and her eyes fastened on mine again, her face full of hunger…but not hunger for me. Again, I felt that surge of greed and desire for revenge.

"Those bastards threw me out of my own home, Jasper, and I shall never let them keep it. Monterrey is _mine_."

I had never really spoken to her about what had happened, and I didn't know if that was a good time to begin such a line of conversation, but she made my pondering moot.

Maria sighed sadly, cushioning her chin on her folded arms, which rested on her drawn-up knees. Once again her eyes were far away.

"You see, Jasper, things were good, back in the old days. We had our individual covens, scattered all over Mexico and Central and South America. We respected each other's lands and herds,"—for this is how they referred to humans, as cattle—"and we occasionally fought if someone overstepped their bounds, but overall, it was good. We prospered. We amassed wealth and had a good existence.

"I was made in Mexico, in 1644 or thereabouts. My maker chose me because I was beautiful, and he collected beauty like flowers or gemstones." She smiled and stroked her long hair in a self-satisfied way; I smiled indulgently. She _was_ beautiful. "Anyway, my maker brought me and my coven sisters and brothers north, to Monterrey, where we established ourselves well. No other vampires lived nearby, and we could afford to spread ourselves out and enjoy what the area had to offer. We didn't care if humans knew about us, we were clearly the lords and masters, and if the cattle knowing about us created a sense of healthy respect in them, for us, so much the better, no?"

She looked at me as if appealing to me to agree with her. I nodded; it seemed best. I could sense her growing tension and distress as her memories took her back. After a moment she continued.

"Then…well, then one day _he_ came." She shuddered, her lips parting to bare her teeth in a fierce grimace that made me shiver in apprehension.

"Who?" I asked softly, running my hand tentatively up her arm and to her face, caressing the angle of her cheekbone. "_Who_ came?"

"Benito." The name held nothing for me, but I felt the loathing and fear in her. I waited for her to go on.

"He was a vampire from somewhere in Texas, a Mexican Tejano, almost a damned newborn. But he was smart. So very smart." She shook her head sadly. "I heard later that he'd massacred a few covens in Texas before moving down into Mexico and taking Monterrey. He was the one who came up with the idea of making an army of newborns to protect his interests. It had never been done before. Somehow he pieced together that the extreme strength of the newborns might be harnessed into something useful, and he set about trying to figure out how to do that. He was very, very successful.

"All I remember is that I had been playing my guitar in the courtyard of my beautiful home, the home I had spent years furnishing and making perfect…and then they were there, perhaps fifty of them, newborns, an army of them…" She let her head fall forward onto her arms, hiding her face. "They killed my maker and I think all of my coven brothers and sister within a few hours…I only managed to escape by fleeing. I ran south, toward Mexico City, where I hoped to find refuge and rebuild my life.

"But then he appeared in Mexico City, too. However, I had told the ones I found in Mexico City about Benito's army, and they had decided to copy his tactic." She lifted her head and smiled grimly at me. "We were able to fight him off, but it was difficult. He and his accursed newborns retreated to Puebla, where they stayed for a while…Every so often they'd stage a sortie and raid the city, or we would…Well, the casualties in the humans and vampires were gigantic, to say the least."

She heaved a sigh and straightened a bit, her eyes wide. "And then…_they_ came." Her voice was cold, and choked from her as if the words were stuck in her throat.

I chuckled. First _him_ and now _they_. But after a moment, I felt how her emotions were changing, and the humor evaporated in me. The anger was changing with her memories, changing into abject terror, as if her memories were horrifying. Whoever _they_ were, it was serious business. Maria didn't frighten easily.

I reached out and rubbed her shoulder, trying to calm her with my touch and with my powers. It worked a little bit; her tension eased, and she was able to continue.

"All I know is that one morning, there was word from Puebla that Benito was dead, that some mysterious army had materialized out of thin air and started slaughtering all the vampires in sight, that they possessed terrible and awesome powers…" She shuddered. "And then, they were in Mexico City, and the killing began again there. The assassins were intent on slaughtering anyone with any connection to Benito's aberration.

"Once again, I had to flee for my life. I decided perhaps north was better than south, since it seemed that the strange assassins were heading south. I knew they were after those associated with the newborn armies, and I did what many of the others did: I got out of there as fast as my feet could carry me."

Maria shook her head, as if clearing it of cobwebs. "I found out later that the assassins were from Italy, and they were very, very old, some of them…They considered themselves something like the policemen of our kind, the enforcers of secrecy and such. I made my way north and into the United States again, taking shelter in California for a while, drifting about aimlessly for several years.

"I heard from some other drifters that I ran across that the Volturi, the ones from Italy, spent almost a year cleansing Mexico and the rest of the South, and then they had vanished as suddenly as they had appeared. And that it was safe to go back South again, but that we had to be careful to not attract attention or flaunt our presence like we had before, or the killers would return to punish us. So I went South again, to Monterrey, to see if I could pick back up where I left off. Surely, I thought, my home would still be standing, and maybe some of my old coven might have survived, by some miracle."

Her blazing eyes locked on me again. "But when I went home again, I found two upstarts from Mexico City had taken over Monterrey with a small army of newborns, and they cast me out, I was almost killed. They had even moved into my old home!" She pounded her little fist into the floor of the cave in frustration. "And then, I vowed that I would do what they had done, that I would take my city back with my own army, but that I would be smart about it, unlike those fools." She lifted her chin triumphantly. "And that is when I found Nettie and Lucy, when I was wandering again in Texas. They'd been displaced as well, Nettie from Montgomery, Alabama, and Lucy from Atlanta. They agreed with me, and wanted to help me take my city long as they received a generous amount of human territory as compensation."

I nodded, finally understanding why I had never felt like the three women were truly friends: theirs was a partnership of convenience only, and I knew it was not going to last long. Among the human blood drinkers of our kind, there is never more than an uneasy truce, except among the Volturi, who have their own methods of enforcing loyalty and obedience.

She smiled at me, leaning forward and kissing me on the forehead. "And that is where you come in, my handsome soldier boy," she said, her tone dripping with pride and satisfaction. Again, I felt that pang of wrongness, knew I was being used. But what other option did I have? I had no idea that anything different was available to me, and at least Maria loved and needed me, in her own way.

"So, my darling, you must tell me when you think our troops are ready to begin our campaign. Now you know how important it is to me. Soon, I hope?"

I smiled, shaking off the feelings inside, feeling my own pride well up, mingling with hers. "Soon, Maria. Very soon. I can push them harder. Within a week, no more."

Maria grinned her glittering smile, all her perfect, venom-coated teeth shining even in the pitch-blackness of the cave. "Perfect," she murmured, and leaned toward me, unfolding her legs to come closer.

I felt her cool breath against my neck, felt the sharpness of her teeth as she nibbled at the tender spot where neck and shoulder joined; I felt the desire oozing from her, and felt my own roar to life in response. I reached out and pulled her to me, felt her chuckle soundlessly as our lips met, and we tumbled to the floor again, our hands making quick work of tearing our clothes away in our haste to feel skin on skin.

"Perfect…"

I was a man of my word. Within a week I had kicked, punched and cursed the newborns into some semblance of a cohesive fighting unit: twenty-three amazingly strong, fast, and well-trained young vampires, all lusting for the chance to prove themselves to Maria and the other women.

My lover was overjoyed with us, and with me. She rewarded me well, and she promised the lads lavish rewards if they pulled through and gave her her city back. They slavishly followed her every word.

We descended on Monterrey in the grey hours before dawn, and found that the city was woefully under-defended. Only the two older ones that Maria had spoken about were even close to capable of resisting us, their nine-man newborn army no match for our well-trained fighters. We made quick work of it; within a few hours, we'd dispatched them all, and the clouds of purple smoke were ascending into the dawn sky. Not a single human knew of what had happened within the confines of their sleeping city that morning, and Maria was ecstatic. I was able to carry her over the threshold of her old house and make love to her on her old bed; the joy of her triumph was heady and sweet, like a drug coursing through me. I was enchanted again by her, no matter how much that wrongness kept bubbling up inside me; I was determined to make things work with her.

After that, my Maria became drunk on her own power, not content with just Monterrey. She became obsessed with the idea of empire. No matter how often I tried to convince her to keep things manageable, that we didn't need more lands, that we couldn't dare take a chance on incurring the Volturi's wrath, she didn't listen. And I, as her faithful slave and companion, did what she asked me to do.

I created and trained newborn after newborn. Many died, but many lived, and the numbers of our army were maintained. And it worked. We conquered most of Texas and northern Mexico within a year, but it was a short-lived empire, for the number of Maria's enemies were growing by the day. They retaliated, coming in droves from the South to confront us, and war began in earnest. I lived in daily fear that the Volturi would appear out of thin air, like Maria's tale, and dreaded the dawn, wondering if it would come, revealing the assassins at our door.

They were too much for us, no matter how well-trained we were. By the time a year was out, we had lost most of Texas and were fighting tooth and claw to keep northern Mexico. Our center of operations was Monterrey, of course. We all knew it was a losing fight; I began to quietly try to influence Maria to stop her quest for more "herd lands." And that is when things went from bad to worse.

Once morning Nettie stormed into Maria's house (no matter how long I lived there with her, it would always be Maria's house), her eyes blazing, her anger almost visible around her.

"Maria!" she screamed, busting through the front door, shattering it on its hinges.

Maria and I had been sitting in front of the fireplace, talking about what to do next regarding strategy. I had a bunch of maps in my lap, where I was pointing out weak spots in our defensive line, and where we had strong points, trying to nudge her into reconsidering retreating. When Nettie screamed we jumped, and the maps tumbled to the floor, forgotten.

Nettie slammed one fist into the adobe wall of the house, punching a deep hole into the hard clay, dust showering everything. Maria stared at Nettie, horrified.

"What in the name of Christ is wrong with you, Nettie?" she shrieked.

Nettie glared at her, and I saw Lucy behind her, looking equally as angry but not quite so out of control. Nettie licked her lips and bared her teeth menacingly at Maria, a low growl rumbling from her chest. It was shocking, how predatory such a beautiful woman could look. It was disturbing.

"You know damn well why I'm angry, you greedy slut!" she growled, coming closer to us. I stepped in front of Maria protectively, holding out my arm to keep Nettie from coming any closer. She glared at me too, her lip curling in disdain. "Get out of my way, Jasper, I have a right to quarrel with her!"

I shook my head sadly. "Sorry, Nettie, I can't let you hurt her. What is wrong?"

She hissed at me, her hand balling into fists. Lucy stood directly behind her, her red eyes narrowed menacingly. She somehow looked even more dangerous than Nettie in her quiet rage. I began calculating how I could get Maria out of the house without leveling it and without hurting the women. I still hated doing that, and tried to avoid it all I could.

Finally Lucy spoke.

"Maria knows very well why we're angry, Jasper." She stepped around Nettie, looking up at me and meeting my eye unflinchingly. "Maria has been lying to us for over a year now, leading us on, promising all kinds of things in return for our help, then never delivering it. She promised us peace and prey, not war after war. We're tired of the fighting, tired of the conflicts. And Maria knows that, but she keeps it up. She'll never stop until we're all dead, and she knows it. She's power-mad, and hiding behind you and your men. Well, we're through!" She shot a fiery glare at Maria, her lips curling in angry disdain. "We have worked for all this time, and we have nothing to show for it!"

I looked back at Maria, who was staring down at the ground. I didn't know what to do.

"Well, Nettie, Lucy, we need you…the men love you, and Maria and I do, too…" I began lamely, but Maria cut me off.

"Speak for yourself, Jasper. I hate these two ignorant _putas,_ and would be glad to see them go!" she hissed. I blinked, knowing that calling them "prostitutes" wouldn't make things any calmer.

Nettie's eyes widened at the words, and I felt her control break. I'd gotten good at predicting it in my men. I knew she was going for Maria before she even did, and was ready to catch her.

Spitting and snarling like a wet cat, Nettie struggled against me, kicking and clawing at me. I felt the sting of her venom when she sunk her sharp teeth into my wrist and flung her from me reflexively, not wanting to lose a chunk of flesh, no matter if it could be easily re-attached; she crashed into the wall of the house with a thunderous sound, and plaster rained down upon us all.

Lucy wasted no time, using my distraction with Nettie to dart around me and tackle Maria, who screamed her own enraged challenge in response. The two of them began to battle, rolling here and there throughout the house, destroying furniture and artwork and anything else in their way; at one point they punched through a wall and crashed out into the courtyard, where I heard them splash into the fountain, screeching and spitting and growling. It sounded like a bag of wet bobcats.

I had my hands full with Nettie, even as I kept tabs on Maria's fight. I'd never fought Nettie before; she was fast and smart, always seeming able to anticipate my moves after that original emotional lapse of control. She scored several good points, giving me a few of the scars that I still bear to this day. But I eventually won. I hated fighting her, feeling the narrow bones of her feminine body break under my hands, hearing her screams of pain as I wrenched her apart into small pieces. I had to protect Maria, regardless of how wrong she was.

But I knew, in the back of my head, that they were right. It was a nagging, maddening itch, that certainty, that helped add to the overall sense of wrongness that I kept trying to quell inside me.

It was over. I gathered up all the pieces of the woman I had just killed and piled them in the fireplace, tossing in a match. Nettie caught fire immediately, as we all do: venom must be very flammable, I thought absently, rubbing at the stinging gouges on my forearms, as I tried to ignore the cloying scent of her going up in smoke.

After a few minutes Maria came in, her arms loaded with the remains of Lucy. I averted my eyes as she dumped the pieces into the fireplace. I glanced down at her: she was disheveled, soaked, her hair crazy and tangled around her face, which was marked with fresh scratches. Her dress hung in shreds, and she was rubbing a deep gash in her side. She leaned against me tiredly and I reached up to smooth her hair.

"Well," she said quietly, "At least that's over and done with. No more having to deal with them."

I eyed her in surprise. "Did you expect that to happen?" I asked. I had also expected it, but I did have an unknown advantage in that department. The animosity between those three had been building steadily for over a year, becoming a ticking time-bomb. I was actually a bit surprised the uneasy truce between them had lasted as long as it had. Our kind naturally has difficulty getting along with each other for extended periods of time, and adding in feminine volatility, jealousy and greed only makes it worse.

Maria nodded. "Of course. They were jealous of me, and they wanted to take what I have earned."

I shook my head sadly. Still power-hungry. I wondered when it would end, if I would ever have peace. I saw, in my mind, the years stretching on endlessly: fighting, struggling, scrabbling…and so much death and destruction. It seemed all I was capable of. The very word "peace" seemed foreign.

It would be many, many long and empty years before I found that peace.

Before I found _her_.


	7. Chapter 7: London Underground

**Chapter 7: London Underground**

I stayed in Paris as long as I could.

It was so hard to move on, but I knew I had to. I remembered Corin's instructions, about not drawing attention to myself, about not staying in one place too long…I knew the Volturi knew about me, and I couldn't risk exposing myself or the humans I had come to consider a kind of family to their…tender mercies.

I know I overstayed. Ten years in one place is a long time, especially when you don't age visibly, and especially if you interact with humans as often as I did then. But I couldn't bear to uproot myself any sooner. I loved my life.

I never moved out of the Bruyeres' hotel during that time. I know it was a stupid, selfish thing to do, but I felt as if I'd put down roots, and hated the idea of pulling them up. They were good years, full of new experiences, and I was left with many fond memories.

I watched Perrine grow from a precocious ten year old into a strapping young man; he learned the family business with the natural affinity of one born to it, his nimble fingers producing such elegant and well-made creations that he already had a lengthy client list by the time he was eighteen. He and his aunt and uncle had made a name for themselves, especially since they were patronized and recommended by the eminent Madame Chanel herself for finishing and detail-work. And by the time I left Paris, Perrine was married, with a baby on the way. His son was also to be named Perrine, as was his grandson…I never forgot the family. Their skill and craftsmanship was such that my little Perrine's grandson was the only one I would ever choose to craft my Bella's beautiful wedding gown, some seventy years later.

I had been pulling back from daily interactions with the family gradually, knowing deep inside that the time was rapidly approaching when my breakfast tray would arrive and find me gone, never to return. It was painful. I found all kinds of excuses to stay around. But in the end, the last page of that chapter of my life was written for me, at Madame Bruyere's funeral.

It was a rainy late winter day, the day her casket was lowered into the ground. The family thronged around, black-clothed, weeping. I wish I could have cried as well, to show how much I had cared for that simple, sweet, loving old woman, who had never questioned me or shown the least bit of fear in my presence. She had lived to a ripe, old mortal age of eighty-five, and had passed away in her sleep.

I had never been to a funeral before, and felt odd being there among all the grieving people, but I still felt I had to go. I stood back from the rest of them, shielding myself from the rain with a black umbrella, trying not to be seen, but wanting to pay my respects.

The funeral ended with the priest's final prayers, and the mourners began drifting away in their separate directions. Their murmured conversations and muffled sobs and sniffles were so clear to me. I watched Perrine carefully guide his young wife among the tombstones and crypts, almost carrying her in his fear she might slip in the wet grass of the cemetery. I saw his tears mix with the rain falling from the leaden sky, and his heavy, sad expression made my heart ache.

He saw me suddenly, standing in the shadow of a crypt, and startled, although I hadn't moved. "Alice!" he gasped, stopping. Paulette, his wife, stumbled at the sudden halt, her hands going protectively to her swollen stomach; Perrine swiftly righted her, his hand dropping down to cover hers, pressed against her belly, where I could hear their baby's heartbeat pattering inside her. I smiled gently. She smiled back shyly. We had never grown close; there would have been too many questions. But she was a sweet young woman with a quiet sense of humor, I'd noticed, and she loved Perrine very much. That was enough for me.

"Careful, Perrine, she's in no shape for sudden stops!" I said. He chuckled, but it was without much humor. He sighed heavily, absently patting Paulette's tummy.

"I can't believe she's gone, Alice. What are we going to do without her?" he whispered, so softly even I barely heard. "She was the only mother I knew."

I shook my head slowly. Death was foreign to me. I had seen so much of it, often dealt by my own hand, but it didn't touch me. I was like the tombstones around us: hard and cold, the rain sliding off my skin like it did on the marble. "She was a wonderful woman, Perrine, and we were all so lucky to have known her," I replied lamely.

Perrine looked at me carefully, and for the first time ever, I saw recognition come into his eyes. I felt a pang of something like fear: _this is it. This is the end._ I saw it with perfect clarity, the pictures unfolding elegantly in my mind.

"Alice…" he said, but his voice trailed off, his forehead wrinkling in concentration as he looked at me—really _looked_ at me. _Seeing_ me. Studying me. Seeing the differences, the strangeness. Thinking back to all the oddities about my habits and nature that he'd not paid attention to over the years, or at least not consciously. I could almost read his thoughts as they tumbled over one another in his head, all those questions, seeking answers. Answers I couldn't give, wouldn't give, for his own sake. Finally, he spoke again. He seemed to have made a decision.

"Alice, I wish we could all be like you, always young and beautiful." His eyes bored into mine, full of so many emotions: fear, shock, wonder, curiosity. But mostly fear. "It's as if time hasn't touched you at all, in all these years."

I sighed. "Take care of yourself, Perrine," I murmured sadly, plans already forming in my head. Where I would go. What I would take. How I would get there. How long I would stay. The images started flickering and solidifying as I made my decisions, although only seconds were passing. "And take care of Paulette and your son. You have wonderful things in your future. Believe me." I smiled wryly. I had already seen so much for them.

Perrine nodded wordlessly, his arm tightening around Paulette, who was looking back and forth between us, confused. He finally remembered her and smiled down at her reassuringly. "Come along, _cherie_, let's get you inside before you catch cold," he said, and steered her away from me, toward the line of waiting black limousines parked outside the cemetery gates.

They didn't look back.

I watched them go for a long, sad moment, my mind whirling with thoughts and ideas and plans. Packing lists, destination options, all the mechanics of making a successful and hopefully unnoticed speedy departure…all mixed with the sadness of knowing that, once again, I had to leave a place that I had grown so attached to. Pulling up my roots. It was painful, just as I'd anticipated it would be.

When I was sure that I was alone, I spared one last glance for Madame Bruyere's final resting place.

Her grave was heaped with flowers, her headstone of shining, glittering white marble, crowned with a weeping angel. I smelled the flowers and the fresh dirt, such a heady combination, smelled the rain that soaked everything, like the sky was weeping for her, too.

I had to force myself out of my grim reverie and move. I had many things to do, and not much time to do them.

But I cast my own handful of earth on her grave, my last gesture of respect for her, before I left.

By the time Perrine and Paulette and the other members of the family returned to the hotel (the funeral reception had needed to be held at a local banquet hall, since the hotel didn't have a large enough room to accommodate all of Madame Bruyere's mourners), I was gone.

My things had been packed with remarkable speed. Even though I had stayed in Paris longer than I had in New York, I hadn't accumulated the furniture and various material possessions I had there, since I had lived in the hotel all that time. I only kept my favorite clothes and accessories; the rest went into a pile on the bed, crowned with a note directing Perrine to donate the items to some kind of charity. I also left a fat envelope of cash; I had seen that the family's fortunes would suffer soon, along with the fortunes of thousands of other people: war was coming. I hoped my small contribution might help them weather the impending storm.

I boarded a ship bound for England just before sunset, my coat pulled tight around me against the stiff ocean breeze, my cap jammed down tight over my hair, shadowing my face. Although my eyes were no longer blazing red, the golden amber color was still quite disorienting for most humans if I stared them square in the face. I tried to minimize their discomfort and awareness of just how different I was from them.

As I watched the coastline of France fall behind, eventually swallowed up by the choppy grey water, I thought. I looked ahead, trying to see what was coming.

The war was the biggest thing, and it was hard to see around it, it was so vast. It affected everything and everyone. It was the reason I hadn't headed east into Europe: I knew things were getting ready to blow up there, and England was a safer bet for me. Regardless of my relative indestructibility, death and weapons and rivers of human blood were not something I wanted near me. I shuddered at the thought of the images I would see, all the horrors my visions would show me, if I was surrounded by a human war. I knew England was only a temporary destination: America beckoned me to return to her soon. Jasper beckoned me. It wouldn't be too long before we would finally find each other. But I knew I had things I needed to learn in England, and people to meet.

The voyage was a short one. Dawn broke over the Channel, turning the leaden water into a sheet of shining silver. I took a deep breath, inhaling the salty ocean air, and smelled the greenness of England for the first time. I listened to the seagulls calling overhead and tried to calm my mind, to make the right decisions for what needed to happen next.

"All ashore that's going ashore!" the call rang out a while later, the bells clanging. We had docked. I joined the line heading down the gangplank and waited for a while for the stevedores to bring me my luggage. The pile was smaller than it had been when I had arrived in France. I felt a pang of sadness, and tried to push Perrine's face from my mind.

I looked around. England wasn't much different from France, as far as the docks went, except that the people spoke English, for the most part. I found the accents amusing: how many ways can one pronounce the same word?

But that day, things were strange. The humans were all worried-looking, and there were many more people boarding ships than there were disembarking. As if people were fleeing the city. Then I realized, that was exactly what they were doing. I saw it: the city was being partially evacuated, in preparation for the impending air raids…I saw the cars streaming out of the city the next morning, throngs of people lined up at train and bus stations to send their loved ones away to the countryside, the piles of gas masks and rolls of barbed wire and heaps of sandbags that were London's newest decoration…And then there would be the air raids, which would devastate the city, but would still shape the character of the British soul. They would never give up. Never. No matter how much they were pounded by German bombers.

"Get yer bags, mum?" The little voice startled me a little. I looked down and had a shock of déjà vu.

The young boy standing before me could have been Perrine's cousin ten years ago. He grinned a gap-toothed smile as well. I sighed internally at the coincidence and smiled back at him.

"Yes, please, and a taxi, if you don't mind." It was a bit odd speaking English again.

He nodded and began loading himself down with my things dutifully like a little two-legged camel. Still bemused with the similarities to my arrival in Paris ten years before, I followed him through the throngs of people and to the waiting cab.

He tucked me into my taxi and tipped his cap at me. "Welcome t' London, mum. I think you came at the worst time, though. Be careful!" And then he was gone.

Half an hour later, I was comfortably ensconced in a small hotel downtown, although my window was covered with black shoe polish to hide the glass from the air at night. Earlier, the desk clerk, his gas mask resting beside the check-in ledger, had warned me sternly about having any light on in the evening. "You make sure you pull them curtains, mum, if you must 'ave the light on. I don't want no Gerry bomber takin' aim at this 'otel 'cause you didn't pull them curtains!" I had suppressed a giggle and nodded obediently, following him up to the room without a word. I could see Big Ben and the peaks of Westminster Abbey, but they were dark, also observing the blackout. I waited for dusk to venture out and explore the city. I had a good idea of where I needed to go.

London is a lovely city, so old and full of culture like Paris, but the people are quite different from the French. I found the English to be more conservative than the French, but much funnier and more down-to-earth.

I couldn't stay cooped up in the hotel room any longer once the sun had dipped below the city skyline, throwing the streets into shadow. After all, I told myself, my now-golden eyes weren't nearly so startling as my red ones had been, I could afford to go out and explore. Besides, I had to find someone.

It was a Friday night, but the streets were strangely empty. The pubs and restaurants and stores were all closed, their windows boarded up or blacked out, and there were sandbags everywhere. There were hardly any cars out, and those that were moving had their headlights off, creeping along at a snail's pace. The people that were out scurried about with the air of frightened rats, gas masks tucked under their arms, glancing up at the sky as if they were expecting bombs to drop without warning. A few clusters of people gathered on street corners or on the stoops of houses, talking in low, urgent voices.

War. They were talking about the war. Apparently, things were beginning to escalate. But I knew that anyway. The day before, the obviously insane human dictator of the country of Germany, a man named Adolf Hitler, had sent the German army and air forces across the border into the country of Poland; they called it a "blitzkrieg," which in the Garman language means "lightning war." And it had been lightning-fast, it seemed: the Polish forces, unprepared, had crumbled. Germany would be announcing the annexation of the other country within a few minutes, I suddenly saw. And the next day, September 3, 1939, Britain would announce a declaration of war against Germany. World War II would officially begin.

I had to push the images away forcefully. Thinking about the future of the humans at that moment was too difficult, too fraught with emotional trauma. It was a tribute to how very dramatic the whole thing was, that I was able to see it so clearly, without having to concentrate, as I normally did with human affairs. I hated the pictures of death in my head, so I did my best to shutter them away. And there was nothing I could do about the war anyway. I wished I could, though.

I decided instead to concentrate on where I needed to go. After all, I had an appointment to keep.

Of course, I had no idea why. I just knew I needed to meet someone, someone special. He would help me in several ways, my visions had told me, although he wouldn't want to. I just had to find him, and convince him not to run away: the man was a bit of a misanthrope and a hermit, and he moved around a lot.

I ducked down a flight of steps labeled with a sign proclaiming "Tube Station, Piccadilly Circus" and found myself in the London Underground.

I had, of course, been on the subways in New York, but they were nothing like London's. The walls in the Tube were smooth and the floors clean, and there were people everywhere, underground, rushing to and fro on their errands, so eager to reach their destinations. It was a beehive of activity, unlike the streets above. One thing that struck me: the sight of mothers waving goodbye to their children as they boarded the trains, in tears, flapping their handkerchiefs in farewell. Sending their children to the country, where they might escape the bombing. The women looked so lonely, watching those trains go.

I slipped into the crowd easily, my mind far away, seeking, questing, for where I needed to go, trying to shut out the things around me. If I didn't, I would be overcome by it all. So much sadness and fear, so many frightening images. I had to think about my target.

The problem was, the man kept changing his mind about where he was going, as if he were deliberately trying to confound my ability. I knew that couldn't be possible, but it was still frustrating. I had almost boarded three separate trains based on images I had of where he was…only to turn around and seek another, when I saw that he had changed his mind. It was infuriating.

Whitechapel. The banks of the Thames. Under London Bridge. The warehouse district by the docks. Cambridge. At least twelve dimly-lit and out-of-the-way Tube stations. The Tower of London. Highgate Cemetery. I was beginning to think that my "friend" was giving me a personal tour of the creepier places in London, rendered even creepier by the darkness and the desolate emptiness of the streets.

I chased after the mystery vampire all night, all over London, and never got closer to him than a few blocks. I was so frustrated by the time dawn broke over the Thames that I felt like screaming. I'd had enough.

I was in Oxford by that time, and if I had been human I would have been exhausted from my meanderings all over the city, but since I wasn't I was simply enraged and mentally fatigued. I plopped down onto a convenient bench, trying to distract myself and calm down. I leaned my head back against the back of the bench and closed my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose to ease the tension. I decided I should give up for a while on my pursuit, and opened my eyes again, simply taking in the scenery.

It was quite lovely, the archetypical human university campus: ancient gray stone buildings, towering steeples, well-manicured lawns, trees everywhere, their foliage a riotous mixture of gold, red, and orange tending toward brown as the season deepened toward winter. Students, mostly young men, dressed in their black robes, were beginning to trickle out of the dormitories and toward the lecture halls and libraries. Even the threat of war didn't stop them from attending classes, it seemed. I could almost smell the education in the rarified air. It made me miss Paris and my times at the Sorbonne, all those long hours I had spent absorbing as much information as I could find, how alive it had made me feel.

If I had been looking for him, I wouldn't have found him. As it happened, he almost stumbled upon me.

I got the flash of vision and smelled him almost simultaneously. Immediately, I jumped up and spun around, waiting.

He came out of nowhere, it seemed, from behind a huge old oak tree. I guessed he must have been carefully crossing the park, one tree at a time, and was heading toward the gigantic chapel I could see in the direction he was heading, its Gothic spires piercing the early morning sky like needles. It seemed just creepy enough to be his daytime haunt.

Alistair.

He was tall, thin to the point of almost emaciation, his dark hair lank against his skull, his face narrow and angular, with full lips, and he was pasty-skinned, even for a vampire. He seemed like the type who always had his face in a book, and avoided the sun at all costs. He even smelled a bit musty, like dusty paper, mixed with notes of pine and candle wax. He wore the black robe of a student, probably to try to blend in with them, although his eyes were a deep red, like Corin's had been; he kept his head ducked down, his hair falling across his forehead, trying to keep them covered. He looked as if a good, stiff breeze might send him flying up into the sky, black robe billowing. I smiled at the image in my mind, gaily envisioning him soaring away like a grumpy little black cloud…

I got a hazy flash of the future then, and had to smile.

I saw myself one morning, in 1970, looking at the most recent Rolling Stone Magazine in a local store. Of course, then, in 1939, I had never heard of the magazine before, but I've become used to these oddly disjointed intermingling of present and future. When I see something that makes no sense to me, I tuck it away neatly in my mental filing cabinet, and wait for it to surface again in its proper time context.

In the future, in 1970, the picture on the magazine cover stopped me in my tracks, and it all came crashing back to me, seeing Alistair staring at me that first time. The lead singer of a very popular rock band (ironically, the band had the same name as the magazine), was featured on the cover in an artsy, Andy-Warhol-like portrait, his face washed-out white, his full lips startlingly pink...

The young Mick Jagger, in all his bony, saturnine, unctuous glory, was a dead ringer for Alistair.

All I had to do was imagine Alistair in bellbottom pants and a leather jacket, making love to a microphone and singing "Brown Sugar"…and I would collapse in gales of laughter. The entire family thought it was funny, especially Emmett, who was known to do a very good imitation of Alistair-doing-Mick Jagger, complete with hip-thrusts, but they tried to hide it from Carlisle, who was a little disapproving of his friend being made fun of. I kept a copy of that magazine in my keepsake box, and it made me laugh every time I saw it.

Edward thought it was hilarious too. He often referred to Alistair behind Carlisle's back as "Mick." When he, Maggie (from Ireland, that story comes later*), Tanya, Kate and I had spent the summer in London many years later, Edward and I had a hard time keeping a straight face sometimes, the only time Alistair had come around. Being as averse to company as he is, Alistair could only manage to greet us, make a little bit of awkward small talk, and say goodbye, practically in the same sentence. Once he had closed the door to our flat, Edward had turned to me and said, "Well, Mick has left the building." We all cracked up.

Anyway, back to the moment. 1939.

Alistair must have smelled me as well, or sensed my presence, because he jerked his head up in astonishment, and our eyes met. His widened in shock and dismay, and I knew then that he _had_ been avoiding me. I had no idea how, but he had managed it. The only reason I'd caught him was because I'd given up the chase for a while…and gotten lucky.

"You're not going to stop following me, are you?" he asked me with a tired sigh. His voice matched his appearance: dry, dusty, and dodgy.

I smiled and shook my head. "Nope. We're stuck with each other for a while!"

He groaned and rubbed his face tiredly. "Well then, we'd better get inside and talk about this. The sooner I get this over with, the sooner I'm rid of you!" And then he took off across the lawn, heading directly for the chapel I'd noticed earlier.

All Souls College Chapel on the Oxford campus is one of the older buildings at the university…and one of the creepier ones, I noticed. We slipped into the building through a side door; I followed him up flights of stairs, through narrow, musty hallways, always up and up, through doors marked "do not enter" or "closed for renovation," until we emerged into a narrow room at the top of one of the towers. There was a spectacular view of the university campus, I noticed, although the other vampire seemed to scarcely pay attention. He seemed very unhappy, and more than a little angry.

The room was furnished with a chair and table, and several bookshelves crammed to overflowing, volumes and loose papers and folders spilling onto the floor. He had a small kerosene lamp hanging from a nail driven into the wall, I supposed for the nights, since there was obviously no electricity in the room; a small, brass-bound trunk was shoved up against one wall, probably holding his clothes.

"Well, if you're quite finished with your inspection, can we please get on with this?" he growled. I turned and looked at him, where he stood with his hands on his narrow hips, glaring at me.

"You're Alistair, right?" I asked. I knew I was right, but I wanted to make him agree.

Again, his eyes widened, then narrowed immediately in suspicion. "Who are you, and where did you come from? And how do you know who I am?" Something seemed to strike him. "Did Carlisle send you to find me?" He glared at me, at my eyes in particular.

Hearing my father-to-be's name sent a wave of warmth through me. I grinned. He must have figured I already knew Carlisle, from my eye color. It seemed a unique hallmark of their family. I shook my head. "No, I haven't even met him. But I will, in about eleven years, give or take a few months."

Alistair's eyes bugged. "What do you mean, you will meet him in eleven years? What on earth is that supposed to mean? If you don't know him, how do you know who I am?" Terror bloomed on his narrow face. "Did…did the Volturi send you? I swear, I will be moving on soon, and no one knows I'm here, I promise!" He began backing away from me, nervously casting about for an exit. I think he was even considering leaping from the window.

I had to almost shout to get him to hear me over his babbling. "No, Alistair, my name is Alice, and I came here on my own to meet you. I can see the future!"

His mouth snapped shut with an audible click of his teeth, his eyes narrowing again. He slumped down into the chair and rested his chin on his hand, his eyes never leaving mine.

"Now, why in the name of God would you ever want to meet _me_?"

I had to laugh. He was such a strange, mercurial character.

"Well, Alistair, your guess is really as good as mine right now. I think we just need to spend some time together, and it'll come to us."

He looked as if he'd swallowed a toad. "Alice, there's nothing I would like less in all the world."

I spent the rest of the morning with Alistair in his dingy little tower room. He told me repeatedly, emphatically, that he was not leaving the room until night fell. He was, as I had noticed, utterly and completely terrified of the Volturi, even though he hated them and their rules with a passion.

Alistair was old, as old as Corin, although being compared to the Irish Volturi made him furious. He was staunchly English, of the old type that was disdainful toward all things Irish, apparently. He had been born in a tiny village that had been on the outskirts of London, but had long ago been swallowed up by the City. He would tell me nothing else of his mortal life or how he had been turned; he scarcely spoke, choosing instead to stare broodingly out the window, across the campus. I could almost see his thoughts. I had never met a more unhappy person.

To fill the uncomfortable silence, I told Alistair my story. _Almost_ all of it: I left out my narrow escape from the Volturi in New York, because I knew his paranoia and fear of the Italian vampires would cause a complete meltdown in him, if he thought for a moment I was placing him in danger of their wrath. But I did tell him about my visions of Carlisle and his family, how I knew I would meet Jasper someday and that we would both join them, how I had changed my diet. I told him stories about my life in Paris, meeting Chanel, studying at the Sorbonne…I was watching him carefully, waiting for a reaction.

The only reaction he gave was an occasional grunt or nod; otherwise, it was as if he were not even paying attention, though I knew he was.

Finally I couldn't rein in my curiosity any longer.

"How did you know I was looking for you, Alistair?" I asked.

His eyes slid back to me and narrowed suspiciously. "Well, that's a bit personal, don't you think?"

I was a little annoyed. "I told you about me, don't you think it's fair to tell me something?"

Alistair crossed his arms over his bony chest and shook his head. "Young woman, _you_ came here looking for _me_. I despise company, and am rather irritated by your cheek. You started telling _me_ things, things I never asked you to tell. Things I honestly do not care to know. I don't care to know _you_."

I was crushed. No one had ever been so rude to me. Not even Corin. I stuck out my lower lip, pouting. I had never been disliked before, and it wasn't a nice feeling. I decided to try something then, something that I used many, many times to my advantage after that: I widened my eyes and fluttered my lashes, and let my lower lip tremble a bit. I have been told the effect of that expression is devastating. I know it works well on Bella and Jasper.

It seemed to work. He sighed. "Can you really see the future?"

I nodded.

"Then I suppose, if you're to eventually meet Carlisle, that you shall hear all about me anyway…so it wouldn't do any harm to tell you something."

My outlook brightened considerably. I leaned forward, waiting eagerly.

He leaned back, as if trying to distance himself from me, and looked away. He began talking, but it seemed like he was talking to the wall. I decided to ignore the rudeness if it meant he would actually tell me something.

"You have a talent to see the future. Many of us have special abilities. Mine is…Well, mine is a bit hard to describe. I suppose you could characterize me as a tracker, but that isn't a good way to put it."

I had to interrupt him. "Like Demetri? The Volturi?"

His eyes snapped back to me. "You know him?" he growled, his voice cold with anger…and fear.

I raised my hands, trying to calm him. "Well, I met him once, but that's it. I got to know Corin a bit, and Eleazar." He waited for more. "I…well, I ran into them in New York. But they let me alone." I giggled. "I lied to them. So did Eleazar. He lied about my talent. He wanted to leave them anyway."

Alistair's eyes grew so wide I thought they might fall out. "He did? Did he actually leave?"

I nodded. "Yes. Well, right then, no." I took a deep breath. "He turned a human woman, Carmen, and when the others left to return to Italy he stayed in New York to wait for her to finish changing. And then…well, then he and Carmen were going to run away. Eleazar didn't want to be one of them anymore."

"Run away?" The concept seemed to blow his mind. "How on earth would they manage to get away with that? Demetri could find them anywhere!"

I shrugged. "I saw that Aro wouldn't have them followed. He thinks Eleazar may go back to the Volturi someday, given some time to be alone with Carmen for a while."

He shook his head in wonder. "Aro, letting someone go? I have a difficult time believing it."

"My vision isn't perfect, and it depends on the choices people make. Things change all the time." I laughed. "Like they did with you. All I know is, you kept changing your mind about where you were going, and I was always a step behind, a little too late to catch you. What I want to know is, _how_ did you know to change your mind?"

Alistair laughed for the first time since we had met. It sounded like pages shuffling, but it was a real laugh, not some dark, sardonic chuckle. After a moment he elaborated.

"I said I am something like a tracker, but that is not a good way to put it. If I want something, somewhere, I can…hmm…I can _feel_ where it is. If I need to go somewhere, I can feel which direction I need to go. And if I want to _avoid_ something…or some_one_…"—he gave me a sidelong look—"then I head in the opposite direction of the feeling."

I had no words for a moment. My mind whirled, trying to figure out all the implications of that statement. "So…so, how did you know to avoid me?"

He laughed again, this time his smile wider, and even a bit embarrassed. "Well…" He ducked his head. "Well, I saw you at the docks. I sometimes go there, to pick out a likely target. Someone just-arrived, not likely to be missed. And there you were, like a damn lit candle in the middle of them, bold as brass. I knew you were bad news, and that I needed to keep as far from you as possible."

I had to laugh too.

Then, the sirens began outside.

Alistair jumped up and went to the window, leaning out to look for the source of the noise. "What is happening?" he asked, glancing back over his shoulder at me. I was still calmly sitting on the floor; of course, I'd known it was going to happen.

"Air raid siren." He still looked confused; of course the sirens had been sounded before, as tests, but this seemed different. "Britain just declared war on Germany. They're testing the sirens, in preparations for the air raids that are coming."

"So it's to be war, then." He sat down again at the table, tapping his fingers idly on the wood, staring moodily at nothing. "That's not good for anyone, eh?"

I shook my head. The images were solidifying with horrifying swiftness. The storm of this war would shadow the globe, and so many people would die, lose their homes, lose their families and lives as they knew it; nations would change, some would even disappear, others would be born, and the invisible lines drawn by men on paper maps would determine the destinies of millions. People would do awful things to each other, all in the name of war.

Once again, his eyes found me. "So, Alice." It was the first time he had said my name, and it was startling. Like he was finally acknowledging me as something more than an unwelcome pest. "What are we to do now?"

As if to emphasize his words, the air was filled with the droning roar of aircraft engines. We both went to the window to look out: above, in the sultry summer sky, squadrons of carriers were streaming by, bearing troops to various destinations. The noise continued all day and into the night, until I had become immune to it.

"Amazing, how industrious the humans are." Alistair sighed. "Too bad they are so hell-bent on their own destruction."

I couldn't argue. I'd seen the pictures of the future and they weren't pretty.

"There shall be a curfew now, am I right? No one should be on the streets after dark?" I nodded in agreement, wondering where he was going with that. His brooding turned to outright disgust. "Well when am I supposed to feed, then?" he grouched, lip curled. I giggled.

"I suppose you'll have to sneak around. Or maybe take to eating during the daytime." Then I remembered something. "Oh, and where should I go to find something for myself? It doesn't matter as long as it's decent-sized. Deer are good. Any suggestions?"

He glanced at me, one eyebrow raised. "You'll have to get out of the city, if you need something decent-sized. Although I suppose you could go off your…er…'diet' if you wanted to."

I gave him the kind of look that convinced him immediately that I had no intentions of even entertaining that possibility. "I can wait. I can go for a couple of weeks if I need to. I need to move on soon, anyway." I suddenly realized that I had spoken the truth without realizing the implications of it. I needed to be back in the States before the end of September. So I had to hurry up and figure out what I needed to learn from Alistair…and I was sure he would appreciate being left alone as soon as possible.

He sighed, slumping forward in his chair. "So I suppose we should find something to talk about then. Pass the time, as it were."

And that is how he opened up to me. He never did elaborate on his history; he stayed completely closed about his past. But he did give me so many things that I had been seeking, both purposefully and unconsciously.

He told me all about Carlisle.

"We met in London shortly after he was changed. Poor fellow, he was completely in the grips of a moral and mental breakdown. He had an absolute horror of taking someone's life, but he was a newborn, of course…and you know how that is."

I nodded silently. I didn't want to interrupt him and lose the opportunity to learn something.

"I will never know how he did it, but he managed to persevere in his decision to not take a life. I don't know how he decided on animal blood." Alistair shuddered in disgust at the concept; I had to agree with him: it was definitely a poor substitute. Years later, Edward's tofu and soy analogy would make complete sense to me. "But regardless of the how, he managed it. I saw his eyes begin to turn. He and I had kept company for a little while; we had good conversations, so I tolerated him. The he left for the Continent, which was fine for me. I don't like company much.

"When he came back from Italy later, he was changed. He had matured, learned a great deal from his time with them." He grunted sardonically. "I despise those Italian fops, but they do, at least, know what they are doing. They taught Carlisle how to obey their rules, and when he decided to leave them, they gave him a fortune, to establish himself in whatever he chose to do. They are generous, that is true as well."

I waited patiently, my mind absorbing it all like a dry sponge. He continued moodily, his eyes distant, as if he didn't even remember I was there.

"He tried to talk me into going to America with him. But I did not want to go." He looked at me for a moment, and seemed a little ashamed. "Carlisle is…well, he is the best of us all, you see. He is impossible not to love and respect. He makes us all feel inadequate, too. As if we could do better than we do now, and his proving it by remaining faithful to his vow, year after year, century after century…" He trailed off sadly. "I couldn't bear to go with him. To be reminded day after day, week after week, of how weak and trifling I am, by being beside his shining example of willpower."

Alistair closed his eyes. I held my breath, still as a stone, not daring to move even an eyelash, to interrupt him. I wanted to hear him.

"Everyone says I hate everyone else. And they're right, you know. I don't like people. I don't like company. I have no friends. Apart from Carlisle." He ran his fingers through his lank, dark hair, his burgundy eyes so sad. "I wander aimlessly. I haunt the old, frightening places in Britain like a ghost. I put down no roots."

Perrine's face filled my mind for a moment, but I had to push it aside.

"I try to avoid the humans and my own kind, for my own good. Especially the humans. And that is why…" He stopped, swallowed. The he pushed on. "That is why I can't bear to be around Carlisle very often, as much as I love him. Because I am so weak. I can't bear to be near him, it is too humiliating.

"Because, I love them, too. Just like him. I love them. I hate myself every time I take one of their lives. But I have to. I can't control it, like he can. So I stay away from him, until I can bear it for a little while. And I hate being around others of our kind, because I know I could do things differently…but I don't, because I'm weak."

The silence between us was thundering.

I put out my hand and touched his arm gently, just for a moment. And for a moment he let me; then, he recoiled, as if I had burned him, his face horrified by my trespass. I lowered my eyes and tried not to see it.

Years later, laughing at him and his resemblance to Mick Jagger, the soulful and mortal antithesis of Alistair, I would never let myself forget how vulnerable he made himself in those minutes in that tower room, where he opened up to me as I know he has never opened up to anyone before. Ever. I have always felt blessed by that trust that he strangely gave me.

He shook his head suddenly, as if waking from a dream, and looked at me angrily. "What more do you want from me? Can you not simply leave me in peace?"

I thought for a moment, replaying various scenarios through my head, different possibilities for what could happen. Outside, the sun had set behind the university buildings, and no one stirred on the grounds, the lawns in deep shadow. The city, huge and dark, lurked on the horizon, unlit and strange. Waiting for the bombers.

Then it struck me.

"Alistair, do you know how to fight?"

He stared at me in surprise. "Why would you want to learn? Anticipating any battles?"

I smiled brightly. "Not immediately, but yes, in the future I need to know some things. Do you have anything you could teach me?"

Again, he smiled, and it was a real smile. "I haven't battled in centuries, Alice. But I could teach you a thing or two, especially with your gift. You'd be a real menace, you would."

Everything clicked into place. I saw it with amazing clarity. How fun!

We made our plans carefully.

Alistair procured a map of London from one of the campus libraries, and we spent several hours poring over it together, him pointing out likely places we should go for our little sparring matches, and me checking the future to make sure we wouldn't be discovered, and that the timing was right. He was adamant about that.

"Alice, I have lived in this city for over a hundred years straight now without ever being seen by anyone except other vampires and my prey. I will not change that now. We must be careful about this. It will be a noisy affair, I assure you, so we must be very sure that the timing and places are just right."

What he meant by timing was that my lessons needed to be timed with bombing runs. I knew they would begin soon, on Friday, September 7. Apart from the dates and times, I had to make sure we weren't in a place where a bomb would actually fall—nearly indestructible as we are by nature, neither of us wanted to chance it. But we did need to be close enough, for the bombing to cover the noise we would supposedly be making.

I asked him once why we didn't just leave London, find somewhere else to practice. His chilly expression was enough to make me not ask again.

"I am a Londoner, Alice. I cannot leave my home. I shall do my part here, just like everyone else."

I shrugged, then the vision hit me.

The Blitz. I'd seen it in my mind already: 76 consecutive days and nights of constant, relentless bombing. It would affect all the senses, and I experienced it all with amazing clarity, losing myself for a moment in it. The taste of dirt, the smell of burnt timber, the artificial smell of homes with sealed and closed windows, the blackness of the blackout at nights, the glare of flares and the blazing orange and red skies after a raid. The all-pervading smell of dust and powdered brickwork, the crunch of broken glass underfoot, the bomb-blasted bare gardens and leafless trees as if winter had arrived too early, the odd odor of tree sap, from where all the bark had been blasted and stripped from the trees in streets and parks over large areas, the sap rising up prematurely to spill out of the trees like blood. I saw houses sliced in half as though cut with a knife, upstairs the floor would jut out in mid air, the furniture jumbled and broken, the room open to the wind like a doll's house, the curtains flapping away. I saw furniture thrown out of damaged homes, coated with millions of fine slivers of glass.**

I saw the people, dragging their dead and wounded from the ruins. I saw the firemen and police, rushing to help, to try to put out the flames. I heard the constant roar of the planes overhead, a never-ending parade of engines and propellers, friend and enemy. I saw children, playing with pieces of bomb shrapnel in the streets, which were littered with sandbags and stones and piles of rubbish from the destroyed houses.

And I saw Alistair, in the nights, after I left to return to America. I saw him, among ruins, pulling out the living wounded, taking them to safety. I saw him putting out fires. I saw him drive off looters. He did sometimes feed from the ones he knew wouldn't live, I saw, but I didn't condemn him for that. I understood him a bit more, then. In his own standoffish, cold way, he was a fellow human-lover, and besides that, a passionate British patriot, who would never leave his homeland in a time of crisis.

On the appointed day, we crept carefully from his tower room into the city.

The bombing began at about 5:00. I heard it before I saw it: the thrumming roar of the engines approaching. Soon the eastern horizon darkened artificially, the darkness creeping across the sky in a sinister way: hundreds of planes, practically flying wingtip-to-wingtip in neatly-arranged squadrons, extending for miles across the sky as they came on. I saw the Nazi symbol on some, the Italian symbol on the other. Apparently, Italy's Fascist dictator, Mussolini, had decided to aid his friend Hitler in pacifying England. The air raid sirens kicked on with a wail, and the screaming of them blended with the roaring of the planes in a nauseating cacophony of sound. I heard screaming from the buildings, door slamming, as people shut themselves in to wait, praying for it to be over soon.

"Hurry now!" Alistair hissed at me, yanking on my arm to pull me out of my gawking at the planes. "You said we only had a little over an hour for the first run!" I nodded mutely, and we ran into the growing darkness.

We had chosen a spot relatively close to the docks, which was the spot I knew the bombers were going to attack first and hardest. The Nazis wanted to cripple British commerce by destroying the London docks, through which a third of the nation's commerce flowed. I remembered a few days earlier, watching the humans board the outbound boats like rats fleeing a sinking ship, and prayed that there weren't too many people there at that time.

We crept into Southwark Park, checking carefully for humans. We waited for a few minutes in the shadow of a tree, feeling the ground trembling beneath us. Above, the planes were almost completely overhead, the noise deafening. The air raid sirens screamed.

Then the first ones hit.

There was a screeching wail as the fell toward their targets, then a muffled "whoomph" as they struck, then another, then another, until it was all one huge crashing, grinding roar.

"Now!" Alistair hissed, launching himself away from me. "Catch me, if you can!" He was gone, and his voice came to me as if from thin air. "If I don't get you, first!" He laughed wickedly.

I grinned, glad for the distraction from the bombs. "You asked for it…" I muttered, crouching down.

I saw him coming at me from behind, in my mind, a split-second before he struck me. I didn't move quite fast enough; he plowed into me with a thunderous crash, driving me face-first into the grass, trying to pin me down by my shoulders, sitting on my back. He laughed again. "First pin!" he cried gleefully, and tapped me, hard, on the back of my head. I tasted grass and dirt in my mouth. I'd had the wind knocked out of me. And suddenly, I was mad.

Really, _really_ mad.

With the anger came the ability to leave behind my mind. I pushed my consciousness, my thoughts, into a little corner and let my instincts take over completely. I abandoned myself to them, and the visions flowed freely, like a waterfall. I knew exactly what I needed to do. I saw with perfect clarity through a red haze of fury.

I threw him off of me easily, even though he was quite a bit larger than me. He went flying and landed with a grunt, and was up on his feet in a flash, leaping toward me again. Goodness, he was _fast!_

But I was faster.

I met him in mid-air, and the sound was like boulders crashing together. I absently realized why Alistair had insisted on being near the bombing sites. We sounded like bombs ourselves.

We struggled for a moment, and the most astounding growls and hisses came out of me; I was shocked by it, but it felt so _good_. He growled and hissed right back. We scrabbled and struggled with each other for a long while, me unable to get a good hold on him due to his speed, him unable to get a good hold on me due to seeing his movements in my mind a moment before he made them.

Finally, we had to back away from each other. It was a tie, for the moment. We stared at each other in disbelief, both breathing heavily, but with the excitement of the battle, not fatigue. I felt like I could keep fighting him for years and never tire. He grinned at me.

"Fun, eh?" I nodded; behind us, toward the docks, I could see pillars of smoke rising into the air, and heard the bells of the fire engines, and the screams of people. The planes kept coming.

"Again!" he barked, and then he was flying at me once more. The red haze came up, my thoughts faded away, and I saw in my mind's eye what he would do.

That time, he didn't catch me. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how fast he was, I was always a step ahead of him. It frustrated him terribly; his growls and hisses were truly angry, but I knew I wasn't in any danger. We ebbed and flowed around each other, never touching, our bizarre martial dance taking us all over the park. We dashed up and down trees, up and over benches and rocks and bridges, through the stream that ran through the park, and once fell into the deserted street. It must have sounded like a couple of titans fighting with thunderbolts, but the crashing and screaming of the bombs and the sirens covered it all up.

We fought for an hour, until the bombs stopped, and the sky began to clear, the last few planes circling around to head back across the Channel. I knew they would be back soon, under cover of darkness.

The sun was almost entirely set, the sky on fire with the sunset and the bloody crimson reflections of the fires raging through the city below. The sirens gave the particular signal of the "all clear," and I heard more fire engines and cars and footsteps and the crying-out of the humans as they raced to put out fires, rescue the wounded, drag out the dead.

Alistair sat down in the grass a little way from me and smiled. "Shall we pick that back up in a while?" he asked amiably. I smiled back and nodded. It was so different, seeing him so relaxed. Perhaps he just needed a good battle every now and then.

As I predicted, the bombers returned after sunset. I read later that they had found the city easily, even though it was blacked-out entirely: the planes were guided by the burning buildings, the flames visible from all the way across the English Channel, in France. The darkened sky turned to the color of pitch as the squadrons once again carpeted the sky, and soon began to drop their payloads on the helpless city. Over 1000 people would die that night, with many more wounded. It was a drop in the bucket. That run would last over eight hours, I knew. Alistair and I had plenty of time.

Over the course of the next two weeks, Alistair and I battled all over London. The bombing runs were almost constant, although they were rarely as intense as they had been the first night. By the end of the month of September, over 250,000 Londoners had lost their homes. The streets were littered with debris. We had our pick of battlefields.

I learned so much from Alistair. He taught me the subtleties of battling another vampire, all the little tricks that I should know, so as not to be caught unawares. I astonished him with my ability to confound his moves, but he begrudgingly told me it was good that I had that ability, that coupled with his training, it would help me to never lose a fight.

And I haven't. There have been a few.

Between sparring matches, Alistair told me more about Carlisle, and also about the Volturi. He had met some of them, of course. Aro, it seems, had traveled more in his younger days, and had been in London once, shortly after Alistair had been turned.

His face twisted with disdain, Alistair's voice was bitter. "He was an arrogant one, Aro was. Always will be, I suppose. Always looking down his nose at others. I met him. He came looking for others of our kind. I think he was searching for new guardsmen. He wanted to shake my hand." Alistair spit on the ground in disgust.

My eyes widened at the thought. "Did you?"

He snorted derisively. "Of course not! Do you think I am stupid? His reputation had preceded him. I did not want to become part of his…menagerie. No trained monkey for me."

I laughed at the image, Alistair as a monkey.

He sighed, threw a rock. There were many rocks to throw. "Aro, of course, was a bit put off that I wouldn't shake his hand. But he was polite about it. Got to hand him that, he is polite. He'd be polite to you while he was ripping out your throat, I imagine."

I shook my head. I did not want to meet Aro. I knew I would, eventually, but it was so far in the future that it was too foggy to see. Also, it was clouded by many things that were still very undecided. I was glad for that; I didn't look forward to it.

"So, he asked me if I would like to come to Italy with him, see Volterra and all that rot…I told him no, I don't like leaving England. Even then, new as I was, I knew where was home." He nodded to himself. "After a while, he finally gave up and left. Lucky for me, he didn't have Eleazar at the time, to tell him what I could do. He didn't have Demetri then, either, so I am sure Aro would have loved to add me to his collection. Luckily, now he does have a tracker, one much better than myself, so I know as long as I stay out of sight and keep out of trouble, they will leave me alone."

Then he looked up at me again and smiled a little. "Ready to go again?" he asked, just as a bomb went off a few miles away. I jumped up eagerly, and we rushed each other.

Then, one day, I knew it was time to go.

The day dawned sunny and clear; the planes had left a little over an hour before, the smoke rising from the city in thick columns. We were up in Alistair's tower room after a long night of battling; I had snuck into the chapel restroom for a shower and change of clothes. When I came back up to the room, I found Alistair standing by the window, looking down broodingly.

"Terrible, isn't it?" I asked softly, going to stand beside him. He only moved a few inches away at my closeness; I felt a surge of happiness at that, because before, he would have crossed the room to get away from me.

He nodded wordlessly. We stood there for a long time, watching. Then he looked at me, his burgundy eyes troubled. "How long will this last?"

I sighed. "Well, this particular streak will last for another two months or so. But it's going to go on for several years. Five, I believe. But you will win. Well, your side will win."

He glanced at me curiously. "Our _side_? Who else?"

I grinned. "Well, if you must know, the States will step in after a while, and things will get better. And eventually so will Russia, and a few other nations will help in their areas, but mainly those two and Britain. Against Germany, Italy, and Japan and their various lackey states."

His lip curled. "The Yanks and the Russians? What have we come to!" He sighed and rolled his eyes, looking back down at the smoking ruins. "Well, I guess it just can't be helped. One must take what one can get, eh?"

We stood there silently for a long time, each of us lost in our own thoughts.

The time had come for me to go. I had learned what I could from Alistair, between his stories and his fighting lessons. I was ready. But strangely, it was difficult, once again, to move on. Not that I had put down roots in England, or that I was so attached to Alistair, but I had grown fond of him. I knew he would be alone for a long, long time. It would be forty years before we would see each other again, when I came to England with Edward and Maggie. He would drift around England like a lonely ghost, sulky and brooding as always, shying away from contact with anyone.

"I have to get going, Alistair."

He looked back at me and nodded. "Thought so. You said you needed to leave before the end of September. You don't have much time left."

I smiled gently. "I am glad we met, Alistair. And I will tell Carlisle you said hello, when I see him in eleven years!" He chuckled at that and nodded.

"Oh!" he gasped suddenly, and started digging the stacks of papers on the table, looking for something. Finally, he grunted in triumph, and held something out to me. A letter, sealed in an envelope, Carlisle's name written in spidery script across it. "Would you please pass this to him, when you meet him?" he asked humbly.

"Of course!" I said, and tucked the letter into my purse. I would carry it for those eleven too-long years, although the purse would change many times, of course. A lady never uses the same bag for too long, right?

"Don't open it, now!" he growled suspiciously, eyebrows drawn together threateningly.

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, please!" He relaxed a little, then looked away as if embarrassed. The silence grew between us; neither of us wanted to say the first goodbye, as if that person won. Or lost.

Finally, I couldn't bear it any more. I threw myself at him and wrapped my arms around his narrow shoulders, pulling him to me with all my strength in a quick hug. Quick because he threw me across the room. I let him.

I picked myself up and dusted off my backside, picking my purse up once more. "Goodbye, Alistair. Take care of yourself, all right?"

He didn't look at me. His back was to me again, he was staring out the window, but I knew he wasn't seeing anything. "Goodbye." His voice was curt, rather cold.

I waited for a moment, giving him time to say something else, even though I knew he wouldn't. Then I turned and left, flying down the stairs. I paused on the lawn below to look up at the tower; I could see him, silhouetted in the window.

I waved and blew him a kiss, then turned and ran away. I knew I only had a small window of time between bombing runs, to make my escape.

I think he waved back, but I'll never know for sure.

I made my way down to the docks where the navy ships were, and waited for night to fall. Under cover of the darkness, I stole onboard a mail ship that was destined for New York. I had no bags, because I knew there was no other way to get back to America other than stowing away, and there was no way to keep a bunch of suitcases unseen. At that time, commercial airlines weren't flying from England due to the bombings, and the shipping industry was in chaos due to the German navy, including the U-Boats. I had planned my escape carefully, choosing a ship I knew would make it to New York safely, but it meant sacrificing my last few items from Paris. I know I could have swam all the way back to America, but I didn't think it was worth the effort. After all, seawater plays hell with my hair.

And so, in the belly of the ship, tucked between towering bundles of mail, I steamed my way back to New York. I spent long hours in the dark, thinking, planning, dreaming. I thought about Carlisle and his family. I thought about Jasper. For the first time, I decided to look for his future in a more intensive way, rather than the vague skimming I normally did.

I saw him wandering, alone. Poor thing. So lonely. But not much longer, my love.

Not much longer. Only nine years.

I could wait.

Dearest Readers, see below for a few things that might interest you. I have had to remove the dots in the web addresses so fanfiction won't remove the URl address. Simply replace the (dot) with the .

http://images(dot)wolfgangsvault(dot)com/images/catalog/detail/RS65-RS(dot)jpg (picture of Mick Jagger that inspired me)

Source citation: **http://www(dot).uk/ww2peopleswar/stories/02/a2065402(dot)shtml (this eyewitness account of the Blitz of London helped me tremendously with the description in this chapter. I have taken some phrases directly from this person's account to preserve the impact of their words. Credit where credit is due!

* Recommended reading: Belladonna Cullen's wonderful stories Prelude and The Newborn. They work so well with how I see things, and her writing is so wonderful, I must recommend it. For the story of Edward, Alice & Maggie in London (which is an as-yet-unwritten chapter of The Newborn, but it is hinted at in the already-written chapters of that story.


	8. Chapter 8: Highway to Hell

**Chapter 8: Highway to Hell, or My Eighty Years of Darkness**

"_Boring_. You have become truly and completely boring, Jasper." Her tone was biting, acidic.

I rolled my eyes, not even bothering to turn and look at her, refusing to take the bait that would hook me into yet another fruitless and frustrating argument with Maria. But it didn't stop me from thinking about how bored _I_ had become with _her_.

But I was not just bored with her. I was bored with everything.

My life was a flat line, an endless, featureless, deserted highway, stretching on into eternity, marked only by the countless battles with our rivals and my countless squabbles with Maria. It seemed like all I did was fight and train and kill; it blurred into a numb morass of violence and hate. I was constantly surrounded by those emotions, and it began to feel like they were my own: I had gotten to the point where it was usually impossible to tell where I ended and the feelings of others began anymore. It wasn't much of a life, I knew, but I had no idea that anything else was available. It had been sixty-threeseventy-five years since I had become immortal, and I had known nothing else but this.

Maria had always told me, this was what it was to be one of our kind. She didn't understand my depression: it frustrated and angered her. She loved her life, had absolutely no reservations or moral compunctions, and thought every other immortal should feel the same. She didn't like how I had withdrawn over the past twenty-twoseventy-five years, how my passion for her had cooled, how I had no enthusiasm for the fighting and conquest and vengeance. Those things thrilled her, and she had no patience for me and my moodiness. I felt her anger and suspicion growing every day; I didn't like being around her much anymore, because her feelings were so jagged and unpleasant. It was like being near a grumpy porcupine: prickly and unpredictable.

She sighed dramatically behind me, trying to draw me out. I ignored her, staring out the window, unseeing. I heard her stamp her foot and grind her teeth in frustration. She could behave so immaturely, sometimes, like a spoiled child.

"Well, if you must go to them instead of staying here with me, make it worth something. I'm bored with them now. I want fresh recruits, strong and loyal. Just make sure you get rid of all the yearlings, Jasper. No softhearted weakness this time, do you understand me?" she growled.

I nodded, my heart heavy at the realization that the time had come, yet again. I always dreaded it.

She "humphed" one more time, then came the welcome sound of her skirts swishing as she angrily stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind her with a hollow boom.

I smiled for the first time, enjoying the peace of the empty room and savoring having "won" that round of the argument with Maria. However, I wasn't looking forward to later in the evening, when I knew she would try to corner me again, probably in the bedroom, to try…_other_ tactics to draw me out, to score another "point" in the endless game she played in her head: who has the advantage. She would pick fights with me over anything and everything, just to get a rise out of me…and then would try to lure me into bed to "make up." I had to admit, I usually let that happen. I am a man, after all, and I wasn't accustomed to reigning in my impulses in any way. It took many long years, and learning many new lessons from the ones who would become my true family, before self control was something I could own.

"Jasper!"

I snapped out of my reverie and looked down into the courtyard, where Peter was waving up at me.

Peter was the only person in the entire world that I would call "friend" at that time of my life. Maria had never been a friend, even during the best, most harmonious, times. Peter was different.

He'd become one of us a bit over three years before, hand-picked during one of my frequent hunts for new soldiers for Maria's little army, from West Point. I had ranged unusually far north during that foray, enjoying the respite from Maria's company that the scouting allowed; I'd been following the Appalachian Trail north, and ended up in New York, although I obviously had avoided the city itself, and had happened upon the military academy by chance. I'd watched the cadets drilling, and had thought that it was a good spot for a bit of "recruiting" of my own.

Peter had stood out. Tall, broad-shouldered, dark-haired, and aristocratic, he looked like he came from a good family, and carried himself proudly, his back ramrod-straight. He reminded me a little of my old friend from my mortal years, Newton Berryman. They both had that almost visible air of respectability and strength.

Peter was also a natural leader: the other cadets followed him without question, and he exuded confidence. Adding in the discipline and skills that the military academy training had provided him, he was ideal.

I'd studied him for several days, then made my move early one Friday evening when he left the academy for a weekend furlough. The sun had set, and the road leading from the school at that time was lined with tall trees, casting it into deep shadow, where I had been waiting for him. I'd leapt out in front of him, startling his horse; it reared and screamed, pawing the empty air, and Peter had been thrown down into the dust.

I had drawn closer, standing over him; I'd been amazed at how little fear he had shown outwardly, at how little I felt from him—mainly, I sensed shock, and irritation at having been unhorsed.

Never letting his eyes leave me, he had gotten to his feet immediately, drawn his saber and pointed it at me defiantly. I was amused at the sword: they never trained with them anymore by then, they were simply ceremonial. It wasn't even sharp…but it was the fact that he was willing to challenge me with the damn useless thing that was endearing.

"I don't give a damn who you are, fellow, but you should think twice about whatever it is you are planning," he said calmly, and his emotions had matched his words. I liked him immediately.

I'd done it so quickly he had no time to even react until it was done. He had stared at me, stunned, then looked down at his hand, where I had bitten him. He hadn't even truly seen me, I had darted in so fast. His blood had flowed freely and dripped down onto the dusty road, where it gleamed dully in the faint light of the new stars overhead.

"What in the name of God…" he muttered, his eyes wide. "Who are you?"

I sighed. They always asked that. I had hoped for a bit more originality from him, but I suppose it _is_ a natural thing to ask, given the occasion. I think I asked something along the same lines, too, at first, when I had realized that Maria and Nettie and Lucy had been…different. Regarding Peter, I had a speech already prepared, which I always recited for the chosen ones. I always gave them a choice.

"Who I am isn't important. What _is_ important is that you have a decision to make now, Peter. A very big decision. But you must do it quickly. You don't have much time." I kept my tone neutral, holding his gaze the entire time. He bit his lip and waited for me to finish, flexing his fingers as they gripped his saber so tightly that the knuckles went white. He didn't even ask how I knew his name.

"You now have venom beginning to spread through your body. I poisoned you when I bit you, Peter, and that poison will kill you—but not in the way you imagine. It will change you. You will cease to be human anymore, but you will live forever, and you will consume human blood as your only sustenance. You will be supernaturally strong and fast, in every way. You will never need to sleep or rest again. You will be a predator, a killing machine.

"You will need to leave the life you have here, and come with me, where you will have a new one. I will teach you how to control yourself, to make the best use of your new abilities, and how to make the most of your new life." I finished my speech and waited for his response, as I always did.

But I did cheat: I began sending him waves of encouraging feelings, urging him to accept. I had found it made for a less dramatic scene, and increased my "recruiting" success rate.

Peter blinked, nonplussed. Cleared his throat. His emotions were a turmoil of fear, confusion, pain, desperation. "What is…what is my other… option? If choose not to accept your, er, offer?" he finally managed, his voice sounding strangled. Then he gasped, and looked down at his bleeding hand, and I felt his fear and pain spike, and assumed that the burning had begun to spread. The venom was doing its work already.

I sighed again. "The other option, Peter, is that I just finish what I started and kill you. I would regret it of course; you seem to have a great deal of potential. But I also can assume you'd slake my thirst nicely, so I win either way."

Yes, I know it sounds cold and heartless, but you have to understand: that was me, then. Cold and heartless.

His face blanched; he struggled to control himself. I had to admire his resolve. He was afraid of death, of course: everyone is, no matter how they might put on a brave front. I had feared death when faced with it, as a mortal and as an immortal, but had always fought through it, not letting the fear rule me. But Peter was trying very hard to reconcile himself to dying. Sweat beaded on his forehead as the pain flared; his hands were beginning to tremble.

"I don't know whether it is better to join the eternal damned than to die like a dog in the middle of the road, sir," he said quietly, sheathing his saber. His face was anguished.

"Undoubtedly, you are guaranteed the victory should I choose to fight you. And you have poisoned me, as you say: I can feel it now, spreading through me. I can only assume that if you do not kill me, I shall become…like you. So as you say, I must make my decision quickly, before it is too late."

I nodded.

"What kind of new life are you offering me, sir?"

I quickly outlined the life of a newborn, and told him about Maria and Monterrey. "You'll be fighting, Peter. A lot. I cannot lie to you about that. But to many others who have faced this choice, it is worth the fighting for Maria, to be able to claim immortality and its benefits."

He thought for a few moments, and I felt his emotions beginning to sort out, greatly aided by my "encouragement"; the fear was losing against the curiosity, and the pain was increasing with every second. Finally, he raised his eyes to mine and nodded.

"I will join you, sir."

I smiled and stuck out my hand to shake his; he took it, his grip firm, although his palm was slick with the sweat of pain. "My name is Jasper, Peter. Stop calling me 'sir.'" He had laughed in spite of himself, and that is where our friendship began, standing in the middle of the road on that cool Friday evening in 18771938.

Now, three years later, we were still friends. I depended on him. He had weathered the storms of his newborn first year, and had proved himself to be even more useful than I had thought he would be. His natural sophistication and restraint helped him through the tumultuous times. He had been "promoted" quickly, outlasting all the others who had been turned at the same time. He was an excellent fighter, and had a great deal of patience, which helped him in his assignment of watching over the newborns. But he didn't like to fight, which allowed him to keep a cool head and gain perspective. I had gladly handed over that responsibility; I didn't relish having to play constant nursemaid to a bunch of wild, emotional and bloodthirsty overgrown children.

"So, are you coming down here, or do I have to come up there?" he called, grinning. I grinned back, and as my answer I vaulted over the window ledge and dropped the two stories down to the courtyard, landing lightly. He clapped my shoulder in greeting, and we headed away from Maria's house, toward the outskirts of town.

Yes, it was always Maria's house, never "our" house.

It was late in the afternoon, the shadows lengthening, the air stiflingly hot and alive with buzzing insects. We stayed away from the main streets, avoiding the sunlight and any humans who might be out, although there weren't many at that time of day. During the long, sweltering Mexican summers, the humans came out in the mornings to do their errands and chores, and then retreated from the merciless sun during the afternoons, closing down their shops and restaurants until the sun began to dip toward the horizon. The nights were full of their laughter and music; Monterrey was a happy town.

Once we left the town proper, we broke into a run, heading toward the mountains. It felt good to let go and sprint, losing myself for the moment in the sensations of wind in my face and earth beneath my feet. I felt Peter's happiness glowing beside me like a flaming torch, and wondered briefly why he was in such a good mood, then pushed the curiosity aside to just let myself enjoy the running.

All too soon, we were at the warren of caves that we had used for so long as our shelter and hideout in the early days of Maria's reign. Only the newborns stayed there now, kept hidden below in the bowels of the mountains, watched over constantly by one of us older, more experienced immortals. Usually Peter. We conducted our training there, far away from the city, where the humans wouldn't hear the growling and crashing or our violent sparring matches during training exercises.

And we also did our purging there, in a cavern more than a mile down, one they never saw. But the newborns didn't know about that part, until it was their time to be purged. The ones who were not taken with the others, the ones who hadn't come to their year anniversary yet, thought the ones who disappeared had left or been sent away. We kept up the ruse to keep the ones that remained from becoming frightened and rebellious.

The thought of purging brought me down from the temporary high of the run immediately. I'd have to choose the ones to eliminate. Some had crossed the year mark and were losing their colossal newborn strength, and had nothing else of import to offer us as incentive to keeping them around. Maria was strict about it: she only wanted the best in her stable, so to speak. Peter had narrowly missed getting culled when he had begun to weaken; I had advocated for him, and his charm and value as a help to me had won her over. Barely. She still grumbled occasionally about him; I think she was jealous of our friendship.

As we started descending into the cool, damp depths of the tunnels, I began running through the roster of names in my head, evaluating each one. I couldn't think of a single one out of the fifteen "yearlings" that I could justify keeping around, especially after Maria had just ordered me to do away with them all. There were five who hadn't hit the year mark yet, but fifteen had. None of them were outstanding in any way.

So far, I had only run across a handful of others in the past twenty-twoseventy-five years who had a special talent, like I did, and those had escaped the purge; I'd allowed them all the opportunity to escape, although I could never tell Maria that: I didn't like seeing them wasted. Perhaps it was silly and vain, but I saw those with an extra "something" to be more like me, and found it more difficult to kill them so callously.

But she had found out once, and the poor man had taken a very long time to die…and I had paid dearly for my betrayal afterward. Maria held a grudge forever.

I turned and glanced at Peter, who was now staring fixedly down the length of the dim tunnel, which slanted sharply down into pitch blackness ahead of us. There were no lights, but we saw perfectly well. It seemed as if he was avoiding my gaze. His happiness was growing, eager and bubbly. It was odd.

I had to say something. "What do you think, Peter? This whole crop over a year needs to go, I think. Maria's hot to get them out of the way. She's expecting the Mexico City coven to send someone up here soon, I think, after what happened a few months ago. She wants fresh recruits, she said, since they're stronger."

Recently there had been a particularly vicious fight between our army and the one in Mexico City, and the leader of the Mexico City army, Pablo, had lost his mate in a battle with Maria. He had vowed revenge, and soon, and I believed him: I had felt the pain of his loss like it was my own.

I wondered if I would ever feel something so strongly for someone else, like those feelings I had felt coming from the grieving Pablo, that their death would cause such agony. In a strange, twisted way, I wanted it, to be able to feel that kind of pain, because it would mean I had felt that kind of _love_.

Love. Hah. My relationship with Maria was nothing like love; it was lust and companionship, at the best of times. I didn't even particularly _like_ her anymore.

I had matured so much since the first times with her as a newborn, when I had idolized her, when her exotic beauty and seductive manipulations had ensnared me. She was still beautiful, of course, but it didn't matter: I felt the ugliness inside her, I'd seen it manifest itself countless times during the years I had followed her. It was impossible to really love someone like that, and I was beginning to feel just like her, ugly inside, my soul stained by all the killing and hate. At least the pain of the loss of true love would be better than the emptiness and hatred that I felt constantly…And the idea of such true love was… magical.

How very much I underestimated the glory of what was awaiting me in the future.

At my words about purging the newborns, I immediately felt Peter's happiness plunge into the blackest fury and horror, but he didn't stop to face me, to explain it. In fact, he sped up. It startled me; I stopped for a moment and watched his retreating back, which had gone stiff with tension, wondering what I had said to enrage him. His voice floated back to me.

"I don't know, Jasper. It's up to you to decide which ones to keep, of course, if any at all. But some of them have potential, I think." He was trying to keep his tone casual, I could tell, but there was an edge of steel to it, too.

I caught up with him. "What is it?" I asked him, reaching out to put my hand on his shoulder, forcing him to turn and face me. "What's the matter? I can tell, something is going on."

Peter was the only one I had told about my talent. He knew how to keep a secret. I'd jealously guarded the knowledge of my ability from Maria for almost seven decades, knowing in my gut that if she knew I could feel her emotions that she'd want to gut _me_. She'd feel vulnerable.

And Maria hated feeling vulnerable.

Peter looked at me, finally, but his gaze was dodgy, his eyes darting everywhere, as if he was afraid. I felt his emotions radiating from him in waves: apprehension, fear, anger, disgust…desire. _Love._

I was puzzled.

Peter chuckled, looking determinedly off to the left, as if something on the tunnel wall was fascinating. He drew a shallow, ragged breath.

"Jasper, I know…well, I know that it's impossible to keep some things from you, but please, I beg you, don't ask me anything else, all right? On the strength of our friendship. Let it go. I promise, I am not trying to hurt or betray you." He sighed. "But some things are…Well, some things are just better left unsaid."

I had to do it, because he asked. I tried to block out what I was feeling from him, although it was a futile effort. We started down the tunnel again, each of us lost in our own thoughts.

After a moment the tunnel widened into a cavern, the ceiling about a hundred feet above our heads, stalactites dangling down like jagged teeth. It was a big cave, several hundred feet wide, giving plenty of space for the activities held there. There was light: lamps and torches hung from rings driven into the damp stone walls or were stuffed into crevices in the rock, their flickering light casting everything into a twilight-like haziness.

I could see the newborns scattered randomly, some alone, some in small groups. When they saw us enter the cavern all the talking ceased, and twenty pairs of flaming crimson eyes fixed on us. I felt their combined emotions hit me like a wave, a heady mixture of everything feeling conceivable: newborns are easy distractible, jumpy, and inconstant. The feeling was like having my legs assaulted by an angry litter of kittens, hooking their claws into me with every move. I felt slightly queasy at the onslaught.

They were all somewhere between six and fourteen months "old," and were a mixture of men and women; Maria had relaxed her stance on males-only in her army. There were five women. However, Maria was the one who found and turned the women: I refused to do it. I couldn't. I wouldn't. A strange paradox, I know, that I could find the strength to kill them when I was instructed to, but couldn't give them immortality in the first place—but I never claimed to be logical all the time.

Peter stopped beside me, his gaze roving over the newborns, his anticipation swelling. He was looking for someone. I forced myself to look away, trying to honor his request for privacy, but it was incredibly hard to deny my curiosity.

"What are we going to do today, sir?"

I blinked, focusing on the person who was suddenly right in front of me. Stephen. He was one of the ones on my list. He was about thirteen months along, his eyes dulling from the original violent red, his strength waning as his body used up the human blood remaining in its tissues, although he would always be immensely strong. When I thought about him years later, he reminded me a bit of Emmett, with his huge physical stature and almost childishly open and friendly nature.

I'd been the one to bring Stephen in. I'd found him in Kansas; he'd been a soldier, stationed at Fort Leavenworth. I tended to choose soldiers to recruit for Maria's army, because they usually had more discipline and at least some basic combat skills for me to build upon, and soldiers were prepared to make life-and-death decisions, to walk away from their lives for a purpose.

I had to think for a moment to compose an answer to his question. I couldn't exactly say, "Well, Stephen, I'm here to look you all over, to decide which ones I should kill." That would be a bit bad for overall morale.

"We'll run through a few drills, Stephen, then you'll head out and do some scouting to the south. Maria thinks Pablo is thinking about trying something against us soon, so we should keep a lookout."

He nodded excitedly, a big smile on his face, like a child eagerly anticipating a present. I hadn't realized he was so young when I'd turned him: he was only sixteen in human years, but he was huge for his age, a few inches taller than myself, and an enlisted soldier, so I had assumed he was older. But it turned out that he'd lied about his age to enlist in the Army, to get away from a hellish family life, apparently. I felt a brief pang of guilt at the idea of killing him: he was a likeable kid, happy to please, a quick learner.

But nothing special. Nothing Maria would want to keep. I had my orders.

Of course the question begs to be asked: why I remained loyal to Maria as long as I did. Those who I have told my story to, even the truncated version, find it mystifying—especially those who have met Maria. Normally, even the most patient of immortals find her insufferable after a few minutes. I lasted almost seventy years.

Any sane person, especially men, would have walked away long before I did. They wouldn't have wanted to put up with her jealousy, her violent mood swings, her irrationality, her grasping hunger for power. They wouldn't want to let themselves be used.

Was I a masochist? Did I have an innate desire to be punished for my sins? Did I feel I was unworthy of happiness? Was I secretly, truly, a monster, that I could coexist with her for so long?

Perhaps a little of all those things. And perhaps there was also a healthy dose of inertia in the mix, and bit of the feeling there couldn't be anything better out there for me. It was a complex recipe, the formula for my strange loyalty to her, one whose components I've never really been able to completely discern. I've come up with a few other items to add to the dish, after years of contemplation.

I was raised to be loyal, in the strictest sense. And Maria was, in my eyes, my creator, my savior from death, I suppose. I felt a primal urge to be loyal to her, despite her flaws. Even though she was an imperfect object for such loyalty, it would reflect badly on _me_, on my upbringing, to be disloyal. I think I used that rationale most actively, to justify my staying so long with her.

Also, I have observed in other members of my kind that we are, by nature, predators, and predatory animals are generally strictly regimented when in groups. Take wolves, for example, or lions. Every pack or pride has its hierarchy, the leaders and the followers. The followers are always loyal to the leaders, even when the leaders do badly. Ultimately, the bad leader will usually make a mistake and be replaced, but the followers' loyalty to the position remains. Now, I am not a subservient person, but I do respect authority. My family and the Army taught me that, and it is as much a part of me as my very bones. I cannot betray that respect, that loyalty, or I will stop being _me_.

But at least now, in my family, I have a leader truly worthy of the respect and loyalty I give him.

It just took a while for me to understand that I had other options, too. And Peter helped me with that, later on.

Regarding the newborns, I nodded to Peter, who began arranging everyone into smaller groups to run the drills. It was routine now, as reflexive as breathing. I stood back and watched them run through the exercises; of course, they weren't to increase strength or stamina like human exercises, instead they were drills designed to improve reaction time, to help harness strength, running attack patterns, ways to increase agility.

We taught them how to fight in a group, how to not get in each other's way, to focus on the kill instead of fighting with each other. By then, after months of training, they'd become pretty good at it. We'd fought several battles and had won most of them.

As I watched them tumbling and leaping and dodging and kicking, I idly wondered which of the five women was the object of Peter's affections. That had to be what was going on. It was the only explanation for those feelings. I couldn't help myself.

Surely it wasn't Leticia, the short, dark-complexioned Mexican that Maria had stolen from Pedro's army. She was pretty, all of them were, of course, but she was rather common, there was no spark in her eyes, and she was very reserved. She wouldn't appeal to Peter at all, I thought.

I doubted it was Caroline, the tall, blonde Georgian girl that Maria had whisked away from a brothel in New Orleans. I couldn't see Peter being interested in someone with such a past, regardless of how beautiful she was. He was stiff with honor and traditional values.

Barbara, the mixed-race girl from Alabama, was also out of the question, I would think. She was lovely, and very intelligent; we'd had many interesting conversations. She'd made me laugh, which was something. Were it not for her dark skin, I would think her a good match for Peter, who appreciated intelligence and humor…but he was bound by his values, which didn't allow for the possibility of race-mixing. He'd expressed disapproval of the idea before. Such were the times, even in those years after the Civil War. Nothing much had really changed in that area, prejudice was just as bad as it had ever been, perhaps even worse in some places.

And I seriously doubted that he would never be interested in Patricia, the actress from California, who Maria had taken from a traveling circus in Kansas around the time that I had taken Stephen. Again, there was the checkered past to consider…and she was foul-mouthed and bitingly sarcastic, something Peter found repellant.

Then there was Charlotte.

Tiny, petite, auburn-haired Charlotte, who Maria had grabbed from a bakery in North Carolina. I had no idea why Maria chose Charlotte, it made no sense whatsoever: Maria was threatened by Charlotte's beauty, and Charlotte had no aggression in her nature, except the natural predatory instincts that the change to immortality brought on. She was a completely illogical choice for a soldier in Maria's army.

Charlotte spoke softly, smiled often, and listened well. She liked to sew and sing and read poetry when she wasn't practicing or scouting like the others. I liked her, but she wasn't of much value as a fighter, and I had to be coldly clinical in my evaluations. Of course she could fight, all of our kind can instinctually to some degree, but she didn't have the heart for it. She always seemed depressed before and after a battle. I knew she would be on the list of those to dispose of, even if she hadn't crossed the year mark yet; Maria never wanted a female left alive. She didn't want a repeat of what had happened with Nettie and Lucy.

I saw Peter nearby where the women were drilling, watching them, but he never watched Charlotte. In fact, he seemed to be watching Barbara more than anyone, his eyes following her acrobatics as she and the other women flowed through the motions, occasionally nodding to himself and smiling. Could I be wrong about his "values?" Was Barbara the object of his affections? Was he so secretive about it because of her race, thinking I would object to his choice?

I could still feel his emotions from across the cavern, and knew that one of those women was the reason for his happiness and his fear. This was going to be a problem. Maria had said _all_ of the yearlings. And Charlotte and Barbara had both crossed that mark weeks before.

So Charlotte was the most likely choice, but he was fixated on Barbara. My gut told me one thing, my eyes told me another. I was thoroughly confused.

I sighed and closed my eyes, trying to push the image of Peter's eager face away. I ran through the list of names in my head again, and knew that there wasn't one of them I could justify keeping to Maria…especially not the women.

Maria, in her jealous paranoia, felt that if they were allowed to mature past a year they might get ideas about disloyalty. In her mind, once the newborns lost their huge strength, once they reached the point where they began to emerge from the bloodthirsty haze that covered that first year and become more rational, they were a threat. And the women were the worst, to her thinking. She was always wondering when they would turn on her, even before the year mark. She'd dispatched many of them herself, not waiting for the year anniversary, at the barest hint of suspicion. And she was always worrying that one of them would tempt me, lure me away from her clutches.

Perhaps I could do what I had before, let the women escape, tell Maria I'd done away with them? Maria rarely checked behind me, and since I burned the corpses there would be no evidence…but if she strangely decided to come, if she caught a scent leading away from the cavern, after I had lied to her and said I had killed them…there would be problems. She had discovered my deceit once before, and it had been awful. I might have to fight her, and that wasn't something I wanted to do, regardless of my growing dissatisfaction with her. I despised fighting women. I could never shake my parents' lessons from my childhood: my father's teachings on the gentleman's ways, my mother's softly-worded admonitions. And I thought of Ginny. She would be disgusted by what I had become, even more if I allowed myself to become a woman-beater—because that was what I felt like.

Finally, after a few hours of drilling, I called for a halt and sent them out of the caverns one by one, with instructions on which directions to scout, and how far to range from Monterrey in that direction. They all obediently flitted away, leaving me and Peter alone.

I heard his footsteps as he crossed over to me. I smiled easily at him, and sent a subtle wash of reassurance his way. He relaxed visibly.

"Ready to head back to town, Jasper? I bet Maria is waiting for you. I can handle things here. I'll report anything they find back to you right away."

I nodded grimly, my mood plummeting.

Yes, indeed, I knew Maria would be waiting for me. And I wasn't in any hurry to satisfy her.

But I knew I had to go. No sense in making it worse.

So, heaving a reluctant sigh, I bid my friend goodbye and took off toward Monterrey, my heart becoming heavier with every step I took closer to Maria.

"Well, it's about damn time!"

I shook my head and took a deep breath. She Maria was in fine form: hands on her hips, feet apart, head cocked to the left like she always did when she was furious. Her ruby eyes snapped like flames. She was magnificent in her anger; she was dressed in a midnight blue dress which clung to her curves in ways that should be illegal, her hair loose and hanging down her back in a tangle of midnight curls. Her anger was palpable, but it was amazingly sexy somehow—she was doing it deliberately, I could feel it. If that fury hadn't been directed at me, and if I didn't already known how shallow she was, I would have been charmed by her, as I had been so many times over the past twenty-twoseventy-five years. Since I did know her ways, it was simply a physical draw that I felt for her, but it was still a powerful one.

I forced myself to reply civilly, and I sent her a wave of peace. Her eyes softened a bit.

"I'm sorry, Maria, but I had to go. As you reminded me, I have to purge them."

She rolled her eyes, tossing her hair back from her face. "Just get rid of all the ones over a year, Jasper. None of them are worth anything to me, now that they're weakening. Especially the females."

Suppressing my disgust, I nodded. I had to placate her. It was a blow to my pride, but I swallowed the gall to be able to avoid arguing with her. It was agonizing, fighting with her: her emotions were like daggers, piercing me, carving at me.

She gazed at me for a moment, a slow, familiar smile spreading across her face; I felt the lust begin to rise in her, also familiar. Her breast heaved a bit, drawing my eyes to her ample décolletage. She cocked her hip seductively.

"Jasper, my love, I'm sorry we quarreled. Can I do anything to…make it up to you?" Her voice was a cat's purr, her eyes glittering. She stepped closer to me, took hold of the collar of my shirt in both of her hands, drew me down to her. Her breath was sweet in my nostrils; she pressed herself against me. I could feel the peaks of her breasts, the plane of her flat belly…she wanted me badly.

Almost as badly as she wanted to control me.

She sighed into my ear, her lips traveling down my neck, nibbling, the sensation wreaking havoc in the area below my waist. I couldn't help it. She was so damn good at it.

"I don't know why I get so angry at you. I just get so…so frustrated, sometimes. You're so distant. Sometimes I even think you might not love me anymore."

She drew back a little, her eyes fixing on mine, her fingers tracing downward, downward, over my chest and stomach, following the half-moon-shaped ridges of my growing number of scars downward, finding the waistband of my trousers…ever downward…Her lips found mine, and despite myself, I responded to her. My body had needs, and her lust was infectious, her desire bleeding into mine, setting me on fire. It was hard to tell where her feelings ended and mine began.

My mind fought it, tooth and nail. I didn't want to give in. But then her clever hands slipped down further…And my mind gave up the fight, betraying me and joining my traitorous body. It began rationalizing giving in, letting her "win."

Yes, Jasper, she cares for you. And then there was always the "honeymoon phase" after we had sex, when she was less argumentative. That was always welcome.

In all, not a bad trade: physical gratification and emotional and mental peace, for simply letting myself be seduced. It was easy, habitual, after sixty-threeseventy-five years together.

But it still felt terribly, terribly wrong.

Weak, despicable creature that I was, I gave in. I swept her up in my arms and flung her down onto her bed—_our_ bed—and I crushed her with my own desire, allowing myself to be carried away on the boiling torrent of lust along with her.

I tried to ignore her self-satisfied chuckle.

The next day Peter brought me the report the scouts brought back.

I was again at my favorite spot, the window in the upstairs sitting room which overlooked the courtyard. I enjoyed the unobstructed view of the city, of the mountains beyond, of the bright, cloudless blue sky.

"Good morning, Jasper," Peter said from behind me. I turned and shook his hand, as I always did.

The scouts had found nothing, he said, even though they'd ranged almost to the edges of Mexico City itself. No trace of other immortals anywhere near us. I should have been happy about that: it boded well. If Pablo was truly ready to take us on, my newborns would have scented their advance scouts, in all likelihood.

But it bothered me, because I knew that now I had no excuse to avoid the culling of those newborns. If an attack was truly imminent, I could tell Maria I didn't have time to safely scout out new recruits and train them…Now, I might very well have time for that. I had no excuses.

"Good afternoon, Peter," Maria said from behind me. I hadn't realized she had come in, and I wondered how long she'd been there, watching me stare moodily out the window. Probably not long, since I hadn't sensed her presence before; I could feel her lingering elation at the night before: she was in a good mood. She always was when she felt she'd scored a point.

Peter nodded at her wordlessly, his lips pressed into a tight line that could never pass for a smile. I felt his hatred of her like it was my own. I knew why. He knew what was going to happen that night. And he knew Maria had ordered it.

Her lip curled in disdain as she studied him. She was jealous of his friendship with me; she was angry at his disrespect; she was determined to make me kill him, somehow.

Her crimson eyes flashed angrily. "Jasper, get the purge done. Tonight. All of them over a year, no exceptions." Her gaze was steely, daring me to contradict her.

I couldn't do it. My loyalty, my instincts, my cowardice, my reluctance to change, they all told me I had to do what she said. I didn't think there was anything else I could do but obey. I would just have to deal with Peter later.

I nodded; her triumphant grin was almost physically painful to me. Then she turned and left without a word, leaving Peter and I to our duty.

I felt Peter's anguish like a tidal wave washing over me. It was staggering. I almost fell, my knees about to give out in the face of that intense pain.

I couldn't look at him. My friend. But I had to do what I was ordered to do.

What a horrible, worthless wretch I had become. Led about by a petty, jealous, irrational tyrant by my private parts. I disgusted myself.

I couldn't look at Peter as we slowly trudged toward the caves. No elated sprint this time. He seemed just as disinclined to look at me. I felt sickened by the disdain emanating from him: he felt I was a coward, a puppet. That struck me to my core. But worse that that was the agonizing terror, the fear for whoever he was protecting. Most likely Charlotte or Barbara.

The troops were waiting for us in the cavern as usual. Stephen smiled at me and waved. Barbara grinned, her white teeth flashing in brilliant contrast to her dark skin, skin that shone like ebony beneath a scrim of frost. Charlotte nodded at me, smiling gently, while she pulled a hairbrush through her dark-red curls.

The place where my heart once was throbbed painfully.

_Don't do this, Jasper_, my soul whispered.

I pushed it down. I ignored it. I had a duty, a responsibility, right? And these newborns…they were disposable. They weren't anything except living tools, and the ones who made them were ready to get new ones. When did anyone ever ask a piece of trash if it was ready to be thrown away?

_But they weren't trash_. Again, I pushed it down. Horrible monster that I was.

I felt Peter's fear and anger ramping up in increments with every moment's passing, until it was screaming at me, a raging inferno that lashed at me like a real flame. I had to do something about it. I couldn't let him challenge or undermine me, or the newborns would realize what was going on.

I had a job to do. A disgusting one, but I had to do it.

With all the strength I could muster, I sent a wave of complacency and acceptance toward him. His calmed a bit, but he glared at me: he knew what I was doing, and he resented it.

"Peter, send the ones under a year out to scout again. Then come back and help me." I made my voice as cold and hard and authoritative as possible. The soldier, the gentleman, in him had to respond to that tone, and his body betrayed him by obeying my talent.

A few moments later, I was alone with the fifteen yearlings. They stood around me, faces expectant, eyes aflame. Most were smiling. They felt special, like they were going to be rewarded, or taught something new.

"Maria has decided to give each of you a special assignment. You have all proved yourselves over the past year or so, and she feels she can now trust you to operate on your own." It was another canned speech, one I had recited countless times before.

But this time, the words didn't want to come. I choked on each treacherous one.

The yearlings were all wide-eyed with pride and amazement, grinning eagerly. Stephen actually was leaning forward, as if he wanted to grab me up in a thankful hug. My deceit curdled my stomach. I had to force myself to go on.

"So, one by one, I am going to call you in, to go over your new mission. The rest of you wait here, until you are called. Gather up your belongings, because you won't be staying here any longer." They all nodded and drifted off to pack their few personal possessions; I turned and started down the long, damp tunnel to the cavern where I carried out Maria's orders.

The further down I went in the tunnel, the closer I came to the cave, the more the sickeningly sweet smell of charred immortal grew in my nostrils. I chose not to breathe. Finally I was there.

Using my flint striker, I lit the oil lamps we kept stashed there and hung them up, illuminating the chamber. It was much smaller than the other cave, but adequate for my purposes. There were no other exits besides the tunnel I had just come through—making it difficult for the victim to get away. In the very back, hidden behind a huge rockfall, was the cremation pit I had dug. It was deeper than I was tall, but after over sixty years of executions, the pit was almost level with the floor of the cavern now. Full of the cinders that had once been other immortals.

I stood there for a while, completely still, watching the flickering lamps, waiting for Peter to come. Finally, I heard his footsteps. He wasn't alone. I knew immediately who it was, as soon as I smelled the other's scent.

Stephen grinned hugely at me as soon as I looked at him, sticking out his hand to shake mine. "Thank you for this, sir, I won't let you down!" I let him pump my hand eagerly for a moment before I couldn't bear it anymore. His desire to serve, his happiness at being "chosen," was completely real.

Peter looked at me expressionlessly, moving to stand in front of the tunnel opening, blocking any possible escape for the condemned. I knew he had chosen Stephen deliberately: he knew I was fond of the boy. He was trying to hurt me.

I clenched my jaw in irritation. I didn't like being manipulated by him any more than I liked it from Maria. In fact, it was almost worse, since he was my friend, and Maria was…well, just Maria.

I couldn't let him do it. I had a job to do.

I closed my eyes and wrapped a cocoon of peace around Stephen. His eyelids drooped as he stood there, his smiling mouth going slack, as his body responded to my talent. If he'd been mortal he would have been almost comatose. It made things easier that way.

It was over in a moment. I always tried to be as quick and merciful as I could.

He didn't even scream when I ripped his head from his body.

Once that was done, Peter and I hauled the twitching corpse over to the pit and dismembered it completely, throwing the pieces into the bed of ashes. We never spoke one word through that grim job. Last to go in was the head; I had to turn my eyes to avoid seeing Stephen's heavy-lidded, empty gaze.

Peter stared at me over the pit as he lit a taper from one of the oil lamps, his eyes cold. Deliberately, dramatically, he tossed the flaming paper into the pit, and he held my eyes the entire time as the smoke billowed upwards, the sickly-sweet smell of the body numbing my senses.

"Ready for the next one? _Sir_?" His tone was as cold and mocking and derisive as his eyes. I'd never heard him sound that way. Never felt that kind of anger and hatred from him before, either.

I forced him to back off, once again manipulating him with my talent. Once again, I won, and I felt his inevitable resentment surge. I couldn't do anything about that. I deserved it.

He was tormented. Finally, he broke the silence.

"Jasper, please. You know that was wrong," he gasped.

I just stared back at him, my face blank. I couldn't let him undermine me. Couldn't let him manipulate me. But inside, I knew he was right.

Peter's head slumped forward, his whole body radiating defeat, but he still kept going. "We shouldn't do this. You know these people don't deserve this. Especially the girls. Their only crime is being female."

I sighed. "Peter, I wish I could spare them. Really, I do. But I have my orders." I pointed toward the tunnel opening. "And you have yours. Bring Patricia."

Without another word, radiating desperation and despair, he disappeared up the passageway.

It was a long, long night.

Peter always did his part, he never faltered, but I could feel his agony mounting with each death. I felt the same, but I could not, would not, show it. I was toying with the idea of letting him go.

We'd gone through eight of the fifteen when I told Peter to stay there, that I'd bring in the next one. He nodded silently, his eyes huge, wondering, I suppose, who I would choose.

As I followed the tunnel upward to the newborn cavern, I made my decision. The only women left were Charlotte, Barbara, and Caroline. I decided on Caroline, and that I would send Peter away after we were done with her: I didn't want him around anymore. It was hard enough for me without his horrid emotional state influencing me.

"Caroline!" I called; she turned and smiled at me. I motioned for her to follow me.

She pouted a little bit. "But, Jasper, I'm not done packing yet!" she said, smiling winsomely. "Let one of the others go now, I'll go next, I promise!"

How ironic. Promising to go next. To her own death.

"I will go, sir," a soft voice said, close to my elbow. I hadn't even noticed Charlotte there, standing by the tunnel mouth, like she had been waiting for me. Or for Peter?

I glanced over at Barbara. She was lounging against a boulder, smiling to herself, humming under her breath as she plaited her long, wavy dark hair. I could feel something from her…something new. She was happy. And her happiness was tinged with something different…affection. She caught my eye and winked at me, then cocked her head to look around me, toward the tunnel mouth. Was she looking for Peter?

I was more confused than ever. I had been leaning toward Charlotte, but now…something was funny with Barbara, too. I didn't know what to think, but I knew I couldn't refuse Charlotte without it looking strange. So she followed me down the long, dank tunnel, into the dark, toward her doom.

I went ahead of her, emerging into the flickering lamplight first. Peter was standing to one side of the tunnel mouth, his nerves jangling with tension and frustration and fear: he was frantic about finding out who was following me.

Everything after that happened in a curious kind of slow-motion. I registered everything in a series of flashes, like photographs, burned into my mind.

Peter's anxious expression, his eyes afire. The shock and horror that bloomed there when he saw Charlotte. The massive, crushing surge of love, protectiveness, and fear, all at once.

His fury. Such anger, aimed directly at me, like his saber had been, the night I had taken his mortality.

Charlotte's emotions from behind me, a boiling surge that matched Peter's, her gasp of delight as she saw him there; she rushed past me, her arms outstretched, as if to embrace him.

My shock and surprise. I'd practically decided on Barbara. How had he deceived me, of all people?

His arms outstretched to meet her, but just before they could touch, his scream.

"Charlotte! Run!"

She stopped, stunned, turned and looked at me questioningly.

"Sweetheart, run, now! Just go! You must get out of here, or he will kill you!"

Her eyes widened in horror, her mouth dropped open in shock, she backed away from me, like one would from a rabid dog. She extended one hand to Peter, pleading with him. Then she was gone, flying, disappearing into the tunnel without a backward glance.

There was a long, frozen moment as Peter and I faced each other, wordless. Then he finally spoke.

"I'm sorry, Jasper. I can't do this anymore."

And he was gone.

I stood there for a long moment, hearing their footsteps retreating. I heard the others, far above, in the cavern, exclaiming in surprise at Charlotte and Peter exploding from the tunnel mouth, wild-eyed, as if the devil himself were on their heels.

I knew I should follow him. I knew I could track them, catch them, punish them.

But I didn't do it. I just didn't want to.

I couldn't finish the others. I didn't have the heart for it. I knew Maria would have my guts for garters once she found out, but I decided to just endure it. It would be worth not having the blot of the other newborns' deaths on my soul, if I even had one.

When I finally emerged into the newborn cavern, they were all gone. Fled. I assumed that Peter and Charlotte had told them what was going on, and they left on their own, afraid for their lives. I was perversely glad for it, that I wouldn't have to tell them anything myself.

Maria was, to put it lightly, very irritated at me for that. She never forgave me. My life became even more of a living hell than it had been before, but I endured it stoically, retreating further and further into myself, away from her.

The next five years passed agonizingly slowly. I filled them with recruiting runs, training, and fighting. So much fighting. The squabbling between the Southern covens grew worse for a while, driven by the lust for revenge by those who had lost their loved ones and their herd lands. Pablo's coven did eventually attack us, and I killed him. Maria was pleased with me for that, but it didn't help anything. I felt dead inside.

I felt Maria's disgust and frustration with my depression mounting every day, and hostility and fear and outright malice began coloring her emotions on a daily basis. I remembered our battle with Lucy and Nettie and wondered if I could fight Maria, like I had them.

I knew I could. I felt nothing for Maria anymore.

Then, one day, it was as if the sun rose, ending my long, dark night.

Peter came back.

It was like he had purposefully chosen the perfect day to make his return. I had been arguing with Maria all night long; she had spent hours screaming at me about how worthless and boring I had become to her, a temper tantrum complete with broken furniture and holes punched in walls.

It had started because I had refused to make love to her.

We hadn't shared a bed in months; even though my body begged me to give it some release, my repulsion for Maria had become so much more powerful that I was finally able to rein in my flesh.

I knew she was secretly meeting one of the newborn men…well, not really so secretly. They didn't hide it very well, and it would have been impossible to miss the unmistakable taste of her lust in the air, even without my gift. I knew I should have been humiliated by being cuckolded that way, but things had degraded so far that I was actually relieved more than anything else.

She had actually come back from meeting with her lover and demanded that I go to bed with her; even though I didn't want her anymore, I was still insulted by the thought of her wanting me to be with her so quickly after she'd been with another: I could still smell him on her. I think she only asked me because she wanted to try to get a rise out of me, to degrade me.

"Go screw yourself, Maria," I had told her coldly.

The mother of all battles had taken place after that—but it was one-sided. My part was strictly defensive. All I did was dodge the flying objects that she flung at me, duck her attempts to slash or leap at me, and ignore her curses and screams. I had learned a lot about her in the past sixty-eightseventy-five years, especially about her tactics. They were transparent, especially in her rage. I think everyone in Monterrey, mortal and immortal, heard her, but they were so afraid of her screeching and the crashing of her destruction that no one came to check the source of the noises.

"This isn't over, Jasper Whitlock! You will pay for this insult, I swear it!" Maria screamed, her eyes ablaze, her hair in standing out from her head in ragged tufts, her dress ripped in some places by her own fury. I pride myself in never laying a hand on her, despite terrible provocation. "_Maricon_!" she shrieked. And with that, she stormed out, slamming the door, which was her trademark dramatic exit. With a groan, the door fell into the house, the hinges broken, dust and feathers puffing up into my face when it struck the floor.

That was the last time I saw her for a long time.

I stood there in the midst of the devastation that was her house. All the furniture was in splinters; all the artwork was shredded and smashed. There were feathers everywhere, from when she had ripped open every pillow in the house. There was crumbled plaster and powdered adobe on every flat surface. The bright early-morning sunlight filtered in through several holes punched in the roof and walls. And she had called me "maricon"…the Spanish word for an effeminate male mortal who had homosexual tendencies.

I couldn't help but laugh, as sad and horrible as it was.

I sighed. She was mortally insulted now, despite the basic hypocrisy of her feelings. But logic didn't matter to Maria: what did matter was how she felt, and she felt insulted…thus, she was. And she was dangerous when her pride was wounded.

I might just have to kill her.

It was a sad thought, regardless of how much I hated her. I didn't like killing, even though I was good at it. And I didn't want to destroy her, despite the fact that the world might be better without her. I spent a few moments going over tactics for how to deal with her when she returned, how to defuse the situation without giving up the shreds of pride I had left.

Then I felt him, before I could ever hear or see him. I knew those emotions. Every person has a particular emotional timbre to them, unique and special to them as an individual, similar to an aura, just as much a part of them as their physical makeup. And I knew that timbre, that aura, very well. He was amused, and anxious. He was also different than he'd been before: his spirit was lighter, his face clear and untroubled, and he exuded happiness. As if all the greysgrays and blacks had been leached from his aura, replaced with fresh, bright hues.

"Wow, Jasper, did a tornado touch down in this house, or did you just have a fight with Maria?" Peter's familiar voice came from above; he was on the roof, looking down at me through a hole, grinning mischievously.

I shook my head and laughed again. "What are you doing here?" I asked him incredulously. He grinned back and disappeared, appearing a second later through a shattered window. His boots crunched on the broken glass and pulverized stone underneath as he came toward me, his hand outstretched to take mine.

It didn't matter that we'd parted in anger. It didn't matter that I had been intending to kill his lover. We were friends, and we would always be friends. He was, and is, a good man.

I didn't settle for a handshake; I pulled him in for an embrace. It was so good to see him, so good to _feel_ him. He was the first positive thing I'd experienced in those five long, lonely, empty years.

"I'm glad to see you," I whispered, letting him go.

He smiled at me. "And you as well. I missed you, my friend."

"Where's Charlotte?" I glanced up at the ceiling, wondering if she was perched somewhere above us, waiting for the outcome of the reunion. I hoped she wasn't frightened of me, but wouldn't blame her for it: after all, I _had_ been preparing to rip her to shreds, the last time she'd seen me.

Peter's smile grew, and I felt the force of his love for his mate. I was glad. And I was horribly envious.

"She is waiting for me outside of Monterrey. Well, she's waiting…for _us_, actually." His gazed at me expectantly, and I felt his eagerness.

I blinked. "Us?"

He nodded. "Jasper, Char and I have wandered for the past five years…and we haven't had to fight once. We went north, knowing Maria hates the north, hoping to outrun her, and you." He smiled guiltily.

"Never?" I was astounded. "You _never_ had a fight?" I had been told over and over again by Maria that our kind is always at war, that nowhere is different, that I needed to stay with her to avoid being taken out by others who would want to kill me on general principle.

He nodded again, his eyes wide and sincere. I felt it. He was telling the truth. "Never, Jasper. Not once. And we met many others of our kind, scattered all over the north. Wanderers, mostly. Some in pairs or threes, others solitary. But all are peaceable, if you aren't aggressive to them first. They respect the territory of others, but there aren't any armies, and no wars, ever. Some of them even _live_ among the humans!"

I was stunned into silence as I stood there, chewing on what Peter had said. The impact of his words was devastating.

Sixty-eightEighty long, agonizing years, full of hate and violence and despair. Sixty-eightEighty years of enduring Maria's manipulations, for nothing. Sixty-eightEighty years of killing, killing I'd been told was necessary and vital, that really weren't. Sixty-eightEighty years of becoming a monster. ESixty-eightighty years of darkness.

The sun had risen. It illuminated a new path for me, a path that I hadn't been able to see before. I hadn't been able to see it because Maria had blindfolded me, and I had let her—but Peter had just pulled that blindfold away, and now I could see the truth, see the sun.

"Charlotte and I have had a life like I had never dreamed I could, Jasper. She's like…the other part of me that was missing, but I never knew it, until I met her, and felt the pull toward her, the _need_ for completion, that being near her brought. I don't know, like magnets. But so much more." His voice was hushed, throbbing with the intensity of his feeling; it washed over me in waves. I had to close my eyes and will myself to keep from crumpling into a heap on the ground, leveled by his love for his mate. It was devastating.

I begged, then.

I pleaded, silently, in the deepest, most secret parts of me: please, if there is a god, if there is anyone listening…Please. Please, let me find this. Let me have this kind of love. To be bathed constantly in that atmosphere, to feel that kind of tenderness and concern from someone for _me_, to be able to give that back, instead of constantly battling with my partner for who has the upper hand, or even fearing that I might have to fight for my life against their jealousy…

But I thought it was useless to ask something like that. No monster like me would ever be worthy of something so real, so true, so pure.

But I have discovered, in the past several decades, despite the truth of what is _fair_ and _deserved_, that sometimes god or fate or the universe smiles down on those who don't merit the wonderful, and gives it to them anyway. Perhaps they're just being kind to fools and monsters.

I envied Pablo. I envied Peter and Charlotte.

How very much I underestimated what I could have, what I would be given. Those other loves pale in comparison. And I know it, I can feel the difference. I also know I'm completely unworthy. That's why I will never, ever take the love I have been gifted with for granted.

"So, Jasper…" Peter's voice cut through my prayers. "Charlotte and I were in Texas, which is the furthest south we ever come, normally…and she thought maybe I would want to visit you…But I want more than that. You're not happy." It wasn't a question, it was a sure statement.

I nodded, my eyes still closed.

"So, then…Why not come with us? Leave Maria, leave all this behind, like we did. Have a new life. What do you think? We would be happy to have you with us."

It didn't even take the span of the blink of an eye, or the beat of a heart. It didn't take any thought at all.

As the sun was pulling itself above the skyline of Monterrey, we were leaving it far behind. Headed north, into the great, cool expanses of that relatively-unknown continent, in search of the peace I hungered for so much.

It would only be five more short years before I found the thing I'd been praying for.

She was expecting me.


	9. Chapter 9: Scenic Highway

_**Chapter 9: Scenic Highway**_

I was completely amazed at the changes ten short years had made on New York. When I had fled the city, terrified of being pursued by Corin and his Volturi stooges, the city had seemed so much less…modern. The gaslights were almost all gone now, and the skyline was becoming cluttered with skyscrapers.

I had slipped unnoticed from the hold of the mail ship in the commercial docks after dark and had disappeared into the night, knowing I had to make myself more presentable and come up with money and new clothes. It couldn't be helped that I came out of the belly of that boat looking like a drowned rat, bedraggled and filthy, but that didn't mean I had to _stay_ looking like one.

The first thing I had to do was get my hands on some money, which wasn't a problem. I still had substantial holdings in the banks that I had foreseen _wouldn't_ close during the stock market crashes of 1929 and thereafter, not to mention several stashes of cash hidden in certain places all over the city. Knowing I couldn't very well walk into a bank the way I was, I had to settle for one of my hidey-holes, and hope that the human currency I'd hidden away ten years before was still good.

Central Park at night was deserted, the moonlight gleaming off the lake, the trees black cutouts against the sky; it was quite lovely. I found the particular bridge I needed and swung myself underneath it, prying a particular stone out of its mortar with my fingers, revealing my cache: paper money, coins, some jewelry, a few identity documents, and keys to the safe deposit box at the Manhattan branch of the Bank of New York that held a great deal more cash and gold, as well as bearer bonds and stock certificates.

I had known when I made these arrangements that I would be coming back to New York flat broke and empty-handed, but not all the particulars, since seeing that far ahead isn't easy, given all the twists and turns life can make. Once again, I blessed my lucky stars for my visions; they made life so much simpler. I had nothing but pity for those who were adrift on the merciless current of fate without any kind of compass—the future was scary enough for me, who could see it; I shivered at the thought of not being able to do so, how blind and alone everyone else must feel.

Cash in hand, I found the dress shop I saw in my mind right where it should be, and easily managed to jimmy the lock and let myself in. The shop would be dark and deserted till the morning; I moved around easily, picking out a few items, basic things that would wear well. I knew I wasn't staying long in New York, but there was no need not to be pretty and stylish.

Once I had made my selections I went into the back of the store and used the bathroom facilities to give myself something resembling a washing; I rinsed my hair out in the sink (it stunk of engine oil and salt water), cleaned off all the traveling grime, and dressed myself in clean clothes. I felt like a new woman afterward as I spun around in front of the mirror, admiring the way the swingy skirt of my pearl-grey drop-waist dress swirled around my knees. New patent-leather mary jane shoes, kid gloves, a dark-grey duster coat and a jaunty little pillbox hat completed the ensemble to my satisfaction.

I slung a black purse over my shoulder and dropped my cash and documents inside, except for the pile of money I left sitting on the counter by the cash register, along with a detailed inventory of what I'd taken. I knew the shop owner would come in the next morning and be completed baffled by what she found, but I tried my best not to steal anymore if I didn't have to. Anyway, with my gift, it made it really inexcusable to be rude.

Carefully locking the shop door behind me, I set out into the dark streets of the city. I had time to kill until the morning when I could go to the bank, so I decided to look for some fun.

And I knew exactly where I could, and would, find it.

The Cotton Club was jumping.

It had moved from its old location, apparently after the 1936 race riot in Harlem, but I knew where to go. The sounds of the music and the raucous laughter and voices of the people drew me through the night like a moth to a flame.

Duke was playing!

The music flowed out into the night like warm honey. I smiled winsomely at the bouncer and slipped into the smoky, dimly-lit club, threading my way through the packed humanity toward the stage, where I could see Duke Ellington at the piano, his orchestra arrayed around him. I took a small table in the corner and watched for a while, tapping my feet to the music: the bouncy, contagious rhythm of "It Don't Mean a Thing" bled into "Mood Indigo," which wrapped around me like an embrace from a long-lost friend. I closed my eyes to enjoy the music, feeling safe there among all those humans, anonymous in the dark, noisy chaos.

"Getcha' a drink, hon?"

I opened my eyes and smiled at the waitress. "Gin and tonic, neat." I didn't drink, obviously, but it's more than a bit odd to sit in a nightclub and not order something, and rude to take up some poor working girl's table for nothing. She dimpled at me and disappeared again through the crowd; I closed my eyes again, letting my mind go for a few minutes.

Sometimes, it was easiest to concentrate among that kind of noise and tumult; oddly, silence can be distracting. I knew I had to make some decisions, make some plans, and I figured that was the best place to do it.

I knew I had about nine years until I met my Jasper, in the flesh at least. I knew I had to be in Philadelphia in 1948, but until then, I had some ground to cover.

I also knew I had some people to meet, others of my kind who would be important in the future. It would involve a lot of traveling, but that didn't bother me: I'd always wanted to see more of the United States, and that seemed a good way to do it. I supposed I needed to find a decent map, lay out some kind of tentative itinerary, which I could do the next day.

I concentrated hard for a moment, wanting to see something about Jasper. Though it may seem strange, it wasn't something I did often.

You see, he had been with another woman…well, too many years, by my reckoning…and that was painful for me to see. So I had put up something of a filter over the visions I saw of his life, limiting them to the really important things, and I usually tried not to examine those too intensely, either. Often they had too much to do with _that woman_. Maria.

I had started becoming truly attuned to him, along with the Cullens, during those years I spent in Paris. At first I had gotten all kinds of horrid visions, of Jasper and Maria together, which had completely destroyed me, until I had learned how to put up the filter. Seeing them, it had been like every nerve ending in my body had been set on fire, like my heart was being ripped out, like my head was going to explode. Every time he touched her, I wanted to douse myself with kerosene and light a match.

I had never hated anyone in my life, but I hated her. With every fiber in my body, I hated her.

And no, it wasn't just jealousy. Of course, jealousy was a huge, gigantic, monstrous part of it…but not all, by any means.

Almost as compelling as the jealousy, (my frantic envy that _that woman_ could actually touch him, hold him…do _other_ things…) was the fact that _she_ was an awful person, totally unworthy of even the smallest moment of Jasper's time, loyalty and attention. She was controlling, manipulative, deceitful, vain, violent, power-mad…and unfaithful. Not only was she using and abusing my man, but she was also cheating on him randomly behind his back, with newborns. The concept of that staggered me: how could a woman have someone so precious in her hands and treat him so?

I suspected he knew about her, but since he never seemed to make a fuss about it publicly, I could only guess. My visions aren't omniscient: I don't know the thoughts or feelings of those I see, just their actions. I supposed that he could be biting his tongue for the sake of peace, which he seemed to treasure despite being such a warrior, but I had a hard time understanding it. I knew he was stiff with pride, but for some unfathomable reason of his own, he kept the peace, not caring what others said about him.

Later, I would understand why. I'll get to that another time.

I couldn't be angry with Jasper. Since he had never met me, he of course had absolutely no clue that I was destined to be with him. I had no right to be jealous, but I was. Any girl in my position would have been! In my head, I knew that I had no claim on his past or his present…but the future was another thing altogether.

But a light was beginning to brighten the dark sky of my present: in just a few short years he would be leaving her. Leaving her for good, without a glance backwards, on a course set straight for me, although he wouldn't know it then. And when he did find me, I'd be waiting. I already even knew what I'd say.

"Here's your drink, miss. Anything else?"

I opened my eyes again and shook my head. Ilaced a bill into the girl's hand; she glanced at it and smiled eagerly. "Let me know right away if you need anything else, all right, miss?"

Apparently, the hundred dollar bill I'd put into her hand was still good, ten years after I'd hidden it away.

I turned my eyes back to the stage, watching Duke Ellington make love to the piano for a few minutes, enjoying the rhythm of his fingers on the keys, the way the whole room vibrated with the pounding of the drums and the tapping of feet.

This was a place filled with history of all kinds. Edward had been here, many times, with the female, Tanya. I'd seen them there, Edward lost in the music, Tanya lost in Edward… How sad. But Tanya would eventually find someone else, and Edward's destiny was fixed elsewhere.

I let myself go for a moment, thinking about my family. They were far away, all the way across the country. I thought about them and their travels, and made a decision: I would follow their footsteps for a while. I had time before my next "appointment." I would like to see where they'd been, even if they weren't there any longer; it would make me feel like I was already a part of them. Which, of course, I was, though they didn't know it, yet.

I stayed there in the club for hours, until the place emptied near the breaking of dawn. Then I wandered the cold, misty, deserted streets for a while, waiting for the bank and library to open.

I had things to do.

I spent the next several years on the road. I stopped dressing so much for fashion and concentrated on blending in. I saw the country as it is meant to be seen, on foot for the most part, experiencing every mile intimately. Being a tireless immortal has its advantages: I never got tired and had to rest. I just had to find a shower and a place to make myself decent every now and then.

I had taken to traveling as a boy, for the most part, because a young woman traveling alone attracts a lot more attention. In those days of the last part of the Great Depression, thousands and thousands of humans were adrift on the roads, homeless, blown about by their poverty like leaves on the wind. It wasn't hard to pass for a boy, given my size and slenderness, and my hair was already short: I just shoved a cap down over my head, keeping my face in shadow as much as possible, and wore boys' clothes. Simple.

The first place I went after New York City was Rochester, New York. I wanted to see where my family had been. People still remembered Doctor and Mrs. Cullen, even then. And I looked up the newspaper articles on Rosalie's disappearance and her fiancé's death, just to see them in print: it was a little unnerving, seeing the things I had envisioned years before, printed on paper, indisputable fact.

After Rochester, I followed their footsteps, to Minnesota, North Carolina, Canada, Tennessee. I saw the places they'd lived, touched the wood and stone of the houses, and felt their presence, though they were years long gone.

After Tennessee their trail led west, the clan finally complete: Carlisle, Esme, Edward, Rosalie, and the newest member, Emmett. I knew where they had gone: the images of the densely green, cloudy Pacific Northwest filled my mind; I could almost taste the rain on my tongue, smell the saltwater and evergreens, feel the wild wind on my face. I decided I would follow them to that place. By that time it was 1940.

I found Carlisle, Esme and Edward living in Hoquiam, a small town on the Olympic Peninsula. Carlisle was working as a doctor with the community health cooperative that had been established there to serve the many native tribes in the area, as well as the burgeoning logging industry. Esme was busy drawing up plans for houses, grand houses with glass walls. Edward had finished high school yet again, and was contemplating which university to attend.

I tried to make sure I never got too close, not wanting Edward to sense my thoughts: I knew it wasn't time to meet them yet, and didn't want to change the future. It was hard, though, being so close to them and not being able to talk to them, touch them.

There was something strange going on, too.

There were times when my visions seemed to be missing something, like portions were blotted out somehow, which was extremely frustrating. I would see flashes of forest, know that something was happening…then it would vanish. I had no idea what that was about until much later.

All I knew was that Emmett and Rosalie had left for Denali to have some…alone time. They would return soon, I saw, and the whole family would be leaving again in 1941, to wander for a while, trying to avoid the military draft for the boys. The United States was preparing to enter the war, and soon military service would become mandatory for all males of a certain age.

The idea of Emmett and Edward as soldiers made me want to both laugh and cry. I was sure Emmett would want to jump in with both feet, guns blazing…while Edward might try to reason with the Nazis, rather than shoot them, or become so depressed by having to fight that he'd have some kind of breakdown.

I'd seen Edward go through the agonizing black period of his departure from their family's diet, and it had been extraordinarily hard for me, too. I'd been in Europe, so close to him, and knew I couldn't go to him, help him, during his darkest hour. He had to go through it alone, because eventually he would have to come out of it alone, and it all was laying the groundwork for something…wonderful ahead. It was still very, very hazy, very nebulous, but I knew something very unique and special was in the cards for my soon-to-be brother, and he needed every moment of his experiences to be ready for it.

I had climbed into the topmost branches of a huge, ancient Sitka spruce, looking down into the indigo waters of the Strait of Juan de Fuca. The waves crashed against the rocks, splashing foam high into the air, and the taste of the salt came to me on the breeze. I closed my eyes and breathed it in, memorizing every sensation, for it was good: this place felt like home. In the deep green forests and rolling, lonely mountains, I felt peaceful and free. And it was so close to where I knew we would make our home, in the future, for a long time.

I knew the time had come for me to do the things I had set out to do. Enough wandering, trailing the Cullens like a lovesick puppy. I'd be with them soon enough.

So I closed my eyes again and I looked inward, seeking the right path. Soon enough, I found it. Reluctantly, I jumped down from my branch (over a hundred feet, exhilarating!), and took off, heading south. I had an appointment to keep.

California beckoned.

I made my way down through Oregon, then into the redwood-forested hills to San Francisco. The city sat like a jewel on the Bay, the bridges shining proudly in the sunlight.

I liked it immediately. There was an air of newness and fun to the place: grown up from a supply depot serving the gold-sick miners of the 1849 Rush, into a brand-new, cosmopolitan city. It had burned down and been leveled by earthquakes and been rebuilt several times by then. The hilly streets and eclectic architecture, surrounded by the beauty of the ocean on one side, and the thickly-forested mountains on the other, all combined to appeal to me. The people were more unconventional and easy-going, having come from adventurous stock that had come sprinting across the continent looking for a new life. Apparently, adventure breeds adventure, because San Francisco was one of the birthplaces of the Counter-Culture movement coming in a couple of decades, which would rock the establishment and upturn the world with its "free love" and "equal rights."

I found her on the Golden Gate Bridge.

She was small, like me, with long, dark hair and skin that would have been swarthy were she not a vampire; she had a wide, high-cheekboned face, a proud nose, and huge, thickly-lashed eyes, quite lovely, very exotic. She was perched on top of one of the gigantic support pylons that anchored the massive suspension bridge, cross-legged, enjoying the wind from several hundred feet above the dark water of the San Francisco Bay, her hair swirling about her like a black cloud, the sunlight sparkling off her skin blindingly.

Most people would have thought it a little strange, to sit like that, so high up without a care in the world, but my kind is nothing if not a bit unconventional. The fact that we _can_ do such odd things is a large part of the appeal.

I climbed up to her easily; there was plenty of room to sit down next to her.

She turned and stared at me as if I'd lost my mind. "Who are you?" she hissed incredulously, poised to flee. I idly wondered whether she'd choose to climb down to avoid me, or just fling herself down into the water, if she decided to run. At that moment, all the options were possible.

"My name is Alice. You're Mary, right?"

Mary nodded, burgundy eyes huge and crazed. She was statue-still with tension. I couldn't believe she hadn't realized I was coming; I'd made no secret of it. But perhaps the wind had blown away my scent, and the same wind and the noise of the cars passing and the waves crashing below had covered my ascent.

"Sorry to surprise you." I stuck out my hand in that friendly human gesture I'd decided to try. "I knew you were in the city, and wanted to be polite and say hello." I reached out and took her motionless stony hand and gave it a quick shake. "So, hello!"

She was staring at my eyes, the curiosity winning over the fear. I could tell she wanted to ask me how I had golden eyes. Finally, after a long moment, she relaxed from her defensive posture and sat back down again, her eyes never leaving mine.

"How did you know my name?" she asked quietly.

I shrugged. Sometimes it got old, having to explain, especially to those who didn't believe me at first: then, I would have to predict something, like I was some kind of parlor magician, to get them to listen. It was always best to listen to me in the end.

"I can see the future. And I saw that I was supposed to meet you, so here I am!"

If it was possible, her eyes widened even more, her mouth dropping open a little bit in shock. It took her a moment to recover and snap it shut again. "Really?"

"Yes." I sighed, casting ahead for something to give her. "In ten seconds, those seagulls over there are going to begin fighting over a fish. The one with the all-black head will lose."

She blinked.

The seagulls fought, the black-headed one lost.

She laughed. So did I.

And we were friends.

I found out very quickly why I had been destined to meet Mary.

Mary had been immortal for a very short time. Ten years before, in 1930, she had been living in Santa Fe, New Mexico, before Maria had stolen her away from the silversmith's shop she ran with her grandfather. She never did understand why she was taken. All she knew was that one night, while she slept, someone had taken her from her bed and hurt her, and she came to in the darkness of a cave deep underground, burning alive, she thought. After the three days she had come to herself again and found herself in a cavern with several others, others who had been taken, others who had been changed. She had been drafted into Maria's army.

Sitting on top of the Golden Gate Bridge, the world spread out like a carpet below us, she told me about everything…and about Jasper. I ate it up like a starving man would shovel down food, hanging on her every word.

"We were always training. Always. Drill, drill, drill. Jasper and Peter would divide us up into groups and run us through these routines and scenarios, or they would put us to fight each other, or them. That was what I hated most, the hand-to-hand fighting. I hated it. I think they all knew.

"They hardly ever let us out of the caves, told us it wasn't safe. They'd bring us humans to feed from, or if you were especially good at the exercises, if you'd pleased them, you might get to go out to hunt with one of them late at night. I never did. I was never good enough for that." Mary sighed and grinned ruefully.

"Peter was a nice man, I suppose. He was never rude or harsh, just very demanding in his standards. He wanted everything perfect. When Jasper or Maria were around, he'd get all stiff and anxious, like he was worried about their opinion. But overall, he was all right. We had a few good conversations. He seemed to feel sorry for me.

"Jasper…well, Jasper was…I don't know. Different."

I held my breath and leaned forward, anxious.

"He was a strange man. Distant. Quiet. But, I don't know, he was just…intimidating. It seemed to come off him in waves, this feeling that we had to listen and obey, we had to win…And he had all those scars! You could see he'd fought so many battles, and won! And he put up with that horrible Maria!"

I rolled my eyes and tried not to feel nauseous.

"He was never harsh, never spoke rudely to anyone. Very polite, but also very standoffish. Serious. He seemed to radiate power and command respect. Half the women were in love with him, I mean, he was so handsome, even with all the scars…I know I was one of those!" She giggled.

I tried not to want to rip off her head. Very hard. That wouldn't be polite.

"We were sent out a few times to fight against other armies. We won the two times I fought, and it was exciting, but I felt horrible afterwards. I've never liked killing, not even a fly."

I stopped her. "So, do you want to stop drinking human blood, then?" I knew I had no right to try to recruit her to my particular lifestyle choice, but I still felt I had to try. She seemed so nice.

Mary laughed, looking at me crazily. "Are you kidding? That's one of the best parts of this new life!" Her eyes flashed, she smiled hugely, her teeth gleaming in the bright sunlight. "No, I don't like killing, but hey, we have to eat, right?"

I shook my head. If she asked me about my eyes I would tell her…but I didn't think I'd have much luck with converting her. "Go on."

She nodded, eyes becoming distant with memory again. "After those battles, we got wonderful rewards. Lots of humans. Very nice." I shuddered, but she didn't notice. "But I still didn't like the lifestyle. Yes, immortality and supernatural strength and speed are great, but I really hated being around so much aggression and hate all the time. Maria was a horrible hag, always so demanding and mean, I hated serving her. I wanted out. But I didn't think there was anything else I could do. Maria told us that if we left her, if we were unprotected, that we'd be slaughtered, that the other covens would murder us, or even the Volturi might find us and punish us." She shivered.

"Then, one day, after I'd been there for a little over a year, Peter comes to me and tells me that I needed to go. Go away and not come back." Mary sighed, shaking her head. "He said that after a year, that witch Maria made them get rid of us, because we weren't as strong anymore, that she only wanted the strongest for her army. But Peter didn't want to kill me. And neither did Jasper, he said, but Jasper wasn't able to go against his loyalty to Maria and disobey her. Luckily for me, Jasper was away: he was out scouting for new humans to turn, so it had fallen to Peter to do away with us yearlings. There were only three others besides me. He let us all go."

She glanced over at me. "Lucky for me, for sure. I ran and never stopped running until I hit Canada, and then I thought how much I had always hated the cold and decided to go back south a bit. Even though I don't feel the cold now, I'll never like snow."

I laughed with her.

"I found out how wrong I had been, how much Maria had been deceiving us all that time. It's not constant war and death outside of the bubble of her coven: it's actually much nicer. So now I wander. It's not a bad life. I've met a few others who are like me, just trying to keep to themselves. I haven't had any fights. I just go where I want, which is good."

I nodded, biting my lip to keep from asking more about Jasper. It would be too obvious.

"So, what's it like, seeing the future?"

I laughed. "Well, I don't really have much perspective on what it's like _not_ to see the future, so it's difficult to say, Mary."

"Have you always been able to? I mean, like, when you were human?"

Hmm. Tricky question to answer. I decided the truth was the best.

"I have no idea, actually. I don't remember being human at all."

Mary's eyes goggled again, her hand rising to cover her mouth in disbelief. "Why not? What happened to you?" She shook her head in wonder. "I mean, I remember things dimly, but I do remember…And the others, in my army, the other newborns, they remembered too, at least some things. Why are you different?"

I sighed, looking away, toward the horizon, where the sun was sinking into the water, bathing the water in crimson. "I really don't know. I wish I did."

"So, what is the first thing you remember, then?" she pressed eagerly, leaning toward me in excitement. She'd truly gotten past her initial fear of me.

I thought back for a moment. "Fire."

"The transformation, then. Nothing before? No faces, no voices, nothing?"

I shook my head. "Nothing at all."

Mary frowned and reached out to touch my hand, tentatively, like she was afraid I would be angry or run away. "I'm sorry, Alice. I'm sure that…Well, I'm sure it's difficult. You must have been terribly confused for a while."

I chuckled humorlessly. "That's putting it lightly."

I thought back to those first hours, days, months. The raging thirst, my first kill, the fear, the loneliness. Not understanding who or what I was. The vague, nagging, oppressive feeling that I was missing something huge and vital, that there was more to me than that moment…I shook my head trying to rid myself of that feeling, it horrified me, even now. The only thing that had kept me sane, from becoming something truly monstrous, had been my visions. They had shown me that there was more to me, to this new life, to my future. I had seen that I had something, some_one_, worth waiting for, and that my someone was worth the trouble of controlling myself, that I was worth not giving in to every impulse and desire of my bizarre and powerful body.

"My grandfather raised me, from the time I was a little girl," Mary murmured. I dragged myself from the tangle of my memories to listen to her. "My ma and pa, they were killed when I was very young. I don't even remember them." Her dark red eyes sparkled with the tears our kind could never shed. "They died in a fire. I have been told it was set by raiders, some ranchers nearby who were resentful of our people and our lands." She looked up at me. "My family is Pueblo. We're Indians."

I nodded, encouraging her to go on.

"After the fire, my grandpa came and took me to live with him. He taught me how to work silver, make jewelry and such. It's a good trade. He was respected. No one called us bad names or tried to run us out of town.

"I had a good life, I guess. There was a man I wanted to marry. He was kind. A friend of my grandfather's. But…well, I suppose there's no use even thinking about that. After all, he's old now."

She laughed, and I laughed with her, although it felt a little sad.

"I don't have an exciting life to tell about…before. But I do remember. I am glad I do. Even though I feed on the humans now, I know that's where I come from. It helps me stay grounded." Mary pursed her lips. "I don't know what I would do, if I didn't have those memories to anchor me."

The sun had almost completely set now, casting the bay into shadow. Even though I didn't feel the cold, I felt like I needed to go. I was uncomfortable, sad, irritable; I didn't know what to do with myself. "Can we get down now, Mary? It's getting dark."

"Of course! I have a little place I go. Come on."

With that, she launched herself off the top of the pylon into the evening air.

I guess that answered my question about how she might have escaped me.

So I dropped into the emptiness and followed her.

I stayed with Mary for a while, almost a year. She showed me the Pacific coast, from the redwood groves of the north to the deserts of the south, but she refused to cross the border into Mexico, afraid she might run afoul of Maria, no matter how I tried to persuade her that I would make sure she was safe, alerting her long before we could ever be detected.

She ran through the drills and routines from her time with Maria with me, helping me pull the things I'd learned from Alistair into sharper focus. I knew I was a formidable fighter by then, and that it would be very useful in the future.

Then, one day, I knew it was time to go.

Mary had become accustomed to my ways by then, and she didn't try to talk me out of leaving. She simply smiled and embraced me. "I'll see you again sometime, right?" she asked, looking into my eyes. She had never, in all that time, asked me why my eyes were different.

I nodded. "Of course. One day."

"So then, good luck. See you around. Thanks for being such a good friend, Alice. I wish you the best. Find happiness."

"You, too, Mary."

And then I left her behind, sitting in her favorite spot atop the Golden Gate Bridge. That's where I found her, almost seventy years later, when Jasper and I sought her out, to send her back to Forks to witness for Bella and Edward and the rest of my family.

A few weeks later, I was in the Badlands of South Dakota.

I'd taken my time making my way from northern California, crossing the Sierra Nevada and over the rolling prairies, enjoying the emptiness and beauty of the untouched wilderness—I knew it wouldn't last much longer. Humans were eating up the seemingly endless stretches of the continent in huge gulps, intent on making every inch of it theirs.

The Badlands are stunning, even now relatively untouched. Miles and miles and miles of stepped, barren rock, splashed randomly in wild colors like a mad giant had been let loose with a box of paints, as empty and alien as the surface of the moon. The wind whispered and moaned through the crags and crevasses and valleys and peaks, tasting ancient and wise. I sat for a week atop a butte, just thinking and waiting. It was the kind of landscape that made you want to meditate.

In the end, Charles came to me. I didn't have to seek him out. I knew he was coming, of course. I just made myself available.

He showed up at the end of my week of meditation, climbing up onto the butte to confront me, hands on his hips, every line of him challenging.

Charles was once French, he told me later, but I didn't need him to tell me: he still had the lilting accent of his native tongue, which made the place where my heart had once beat ache a little, missing Perrine and the other Bruyeres. He was a big man, dressed in buckskins with a raccoon-skin hat atop his curly brown hair, and he was the first vampire I'd ever seen with a beard. I supposed he'd had it when he'd been turned, since our kind doesn't grow hair any more once we've been changed. He'd been a fur trapper in Canada in the late 1700's when he'd been turned immortal, and he had never lost his solitary wandering ways, which were really quite compatible with the lifestyle of our kind.

He also carried a gun, an old-fashioned musket rifle, which he seemed to regard as an extension of his own body. I glanced at it, one eyebrow raised quizzically, wondering if he really thought he could do anything to me with that silly thing. The musket balls might sting a bit, but surely it was just being brandished for dramatic effect.

"You're trespassing," he growled, pointing the musket at me threateningly. I had to giggle a little. "This is sacred land, and I protect it. Go back to wherever you came from, stranger."

I shook my head and rose to my feet slowly, carefully, which is not something I do often. I held my hands out wide in what I hoped was a non-threatening gesture.

"Paix, Charles. Je viens en paix. Je m'appelle Alice." _Peace, Charles. I come in peace. My name is Alice._

I swear, if a vampire could go any paler than their normal dead-whiteness, he did. As it was, we were both sparkling like crazy anyway, since the sun chose just that moment to come from behind a cloud and strike us both directly. His eyes grew wide, his jaw dropped, just like Mary's had.

"Qui êtes-vous?" _Who are you?_

I rolled my eyes. Was I going to have to give him a demonstration? You would think, being supernatural creatures by nature, that our kind would be less surprised when a perfect stranger pops up and calls them by name. "I've already said my name is Alice. And you're Charles." I switched to English just for fun.

He shook his head in wonder and leaned on his rifle, studying me. I waited patiently for him to find something to say.

"So then, why are you here? If you know my name, you must know that this land is claimed. So are you here to challenge me, then?" he finally answered.

I pursed my lips in thought for a moment. "Well, no, I actually didn't know that these lands are sacred, or claimed. That's not how I work. I'm not all-knowing. I just see the future." He drew back from me a bit in shock. I rushed on. "But anyway, I'm only passing through, so I don't see the problem."

He sighed. "Well, er, Alice, I am the guardian of these lands. I am the only immortal allowed here."

"By whom?"

"You would call them the Sioux. The Lakota, Dakota, and Oglala." Charles settled back, seeming to make a decision to trust me, at least for a little while. I sat down and politely listened.

He stroked his beard thoughtfully, scanning the horizon. "These lands, the Badlands, and the Black Hills to the west, are sacred to them. In 1848, I came upon this place… I had wandered many years alone, but no other place had captured my heart like this place." He smiled fondly. "I lived here for almost thirty years, peacefully. I never saw anyone of our kind, and I had no problems finding prey: all I had to do was head south for a few days to one of the towns. It was a good life.

"At that time, in 1876, the Indians and the American government were in terrible conflict; many died on both sides. It was easy pickings for me. But the war was ending, the Indians couldn't hold on against the superior numbers, tactics and weapons of the whites.

"Basically, the white men wanted to take the Black Hills from the red men, they wanted to search for gold. Before, the whites had signed a treaty in 1868 with the Indians to agree to respect the sacred lands. It worked for a while. But then, the Americans heard rumors of gold here, and decided to go back on the treaties. The prospectors came in droves, cutting down trees, polluting the rivers, spoiling the land in their search for gold. Then, the army came back. They came back to wage war, and they wanted to move many of the tribes from their lands onto reservations. They wanted to cut down the trees and make the railroad come through. There was terrible trouble. The Indians felt betrayed, angry, disillusioned. So, I agreed to help them."

Now it was my turn to be completely confused.

"Why would you help them? And how did they know about you?"

"These people are…observant." He chuckled. "They knew everything passing through their lands. They say the spirits tell them things. Their shamans say they listen to the wind talk to it, to the spirits themselves, that they can talk to the land and she listens. Who knows, perhaps they are right? All I know is that one morning they were there: a group of warriors and three of their medicine men, waiting for me. I was so surprised to come upon them in my path that I didn't attack them right away, like I should have done. They knew who and what I was, and weren't really afraid."

I nodded, fascinated.

"They told me their troubles. Apparently, they were a local tribe, a branch of the larger Lakota tribe, on the brink of being relocated to lands further north, to a reservation, and they would no longer be able to protect their lands. So they asked me if I would watch over them, and that I would not hunt their people." He grinned hugely. "They said they didn't care how many palefaces I took to quench my thirst. All the better for them: they wanted the white men frightened, the Indians thought perhaps the whites might eventually leave if they became scared, and the red men could have their lands back again.

"I was so intrigued by the idea that I agreed on a whim, but when I realized a few months later that the tribe had in fact been moved, and then saw the miners and other kinds of people pouring in, spoiling the wilderness, I decided I would honor my agreement.

"I have been waging my little secret war here for a long time now. I have done my job well, and have had great fun in it: everyone thinks the Black Hills and the Badlands are haunted." He smiled wickedly, all his teeth gleaming in the bright sunshine. "How many ghost stories those discouraged, frightened souls who returned east have to tell their friends and families! And how they wouldn't be believed…but they are all true!"

I shook my head in wonder. I had never heard of such a thing before. I hadn't envisioned anything like what he'd told me ever before, humans and vampire cooperating so…especially the part about the humans asking the vampire for help. I wondered why I was there to meet Charles. I had come to find him (or to be found, to be more accurate) with no idea what would happen, like with Alistair a few years before. All I knew was that I needed to learn something. It was truly annoying, not being clearer on things.

"So, then, Alice, why _are_ you here?"

I stared at him, wordless for a moment. "I…well, I really don't know."

He laughed. "A fortune-teller, a seer, and you don't know?"

I pouted. Everyone always wants to make judgments on how my powers work, and what I should be able to do or see. How very surprised they would be, if they could take a peek inside my head for even a few moments. "All I know is that I needed to come here and meet you. This has happened before. I'll figure it out."

He tucked his rifle into the holster on his back and shrugged. "I suppose there is no harm in you being here, really. Just do not take humans from these lands. Unless you ask me first."

"I don't feed on humans. If you could point me in the direction of a nice, fat deer or something bigger, that would be delightful."

He stared at me, aghast. "You…you eat _animals_?" His tone was disgusted, revolted.

"No, I drink them, like you drink humans. I don't like to kill humans. At least, not anymore."

It was his turn to shake his head in wonder. "I never heard of such a thing, never dreamed it was possible. Why would you want to do that?" For the first time he seemed to notice my eye color.

"Conscience."

He blinked, nonplussed. "Conscience?" He said it as if the word tasted bad.

"Yes." I sighed and got to my feet, dusted off my backside. I had gone back to wearing boys' clothes, trousers and a buttoned-down shirt and jacket; oh, how I longed for a hot bath, a decent dress, and a nice pair of shoes! "It bothers me to kill them. Unless I absolutely have to, I don't. But that doesn't mean I don't want to. It's my conscience that keeps me from doing it."

He considered that for a few moments, then shrugged again. "Then I guess there is no problem with you being here at all." He extended his hand to me, beckoning. "Would you like to see some of the most beautiful places on earth? I can show you."

I smiled and followed him.

Charles showed me around his little realm for the next few days. I watched the sun rise above the wind-carved hills and buttes of the Badlands, saw the sun set behind the lushly, deep-green mountains of the Black Hills. We chased deer in the valleys, followed the shadows of hawks through the canyons. He took me to Mount Rushmore, which had just been finished the year before, in 1941. I stared in amazement at the side of the mountain: the surface had been blasted away and carved into the huge likenesses of the faces of four American presidents. On one hand I was struck by the skill of the humans, that something like that could be done by such frail, slow creatures…but on the other hand, I was saddened by how they felt they had to make their mark on everything, spoiling the natural beauty of the mountain itself.

Then, on the morning of the third day, I found out why I had needed to come. It really had very little to do with Charles at all.

I had just finished off a good meal: Charles had shown me where I could find elk, which are huge and quite tasty as far as herbivores go. I was cleaning myself up in a stream, rinsing off my face and hands in the cold, clear water, when I suddenly had the feeling I was being watched.

Now, for me, of all people, to get that kind of feeling, when I should have known ahead of time I would get that feeling and _didn't_, was truly disturbing.

I sat up and flowed into a defensive crouch, my chest rumbling with the beginnings of a growl. I felt my senses heighten: every blade of grass, every grain of dirt, every sound in the forest, came alive to me as I tested it all, trying to determine where that sensation was coming from.

A scent came to me on the breeze, something I'd never smelled before. It was human, but at the same time, it wasn't. It was almost animal, but not quite.

"Peace, Auntie. Do not worry. I come in peace."

The human voice rang out clearly from the trees. I froze, concentrating on where it came from, but at the same time, chuckling a little internally because those words were so similar to what I had said before to Charles.

But wait a second…_Auntie?_

Then came the sounds of footsteps crunching through the dry leaves on the forest floor, and out of the shadowy gloom of the thick trees came a figure, walking toward me, hands outstretched, again, like mine had been with Charles.

A young man stepped out into the sunlight, followed by a young woman. They were both tall and well-built, with beautiful coppery skin and long black hair. They looked a bit like Mary, but I could see the differences in the facial features, they were from a different tribe than she had come from. Were they Sioux? But something about them was familiar, though I'd never seen them before. Something about the jawline, the brows, and the eyes…

The eyes, which were crystal blue, so startlingly out of place in those dark, exotic faces.

They stopped across the creek from me, both of them radiating nervousness. The girl stood a little behind the boy, staring at me wide-eyed, biting her lip, while the boy squared his shoulders and straightened his back proudly, obviously assuming the protector role. Did they have any idea how futile that would be, to try to outrun or, god forbid, fight me?

_Auntie??_ I felt dizzy with confusion. I had never been so unsettled since my newborn days.

The young man cleared his throat. "Welcome, Aunt Alice. We are very glad to meet you. Our mother told us you would be coming and said we should greet you."

_Aunt Alice???_

I couldn't help myself. "And who exactly is your mother, and how did she know I would be here, and how did she know my name?"

The boy chuckled. "Perhaps I should introduce us." He drew himself up even straighter and lifted his chin proudly. "My name is Jasper Whitlock Standing Bear."

I sat down in shock, my legs spaying out before me. I couldn't breathe.

He turned a little and touched the girl on the shoulder; she smiled nervously at me. "And this is Alice Whitlock Standing Bear."

I couldn't do anything but stare.

I had never, ever been surprised before. And I hadn't seen any of this coming. My thoughts raged wildly: was I going crazy? Was I losing my ability to see things? Who were these people, and how did they have those names?

Jasper (_Jasper?_) smiled gently. "I can see you're a little surprised by us. Mother said you would be."

I still couldn't move. I was frozen by shock and fear and confusion.

"Please, would you like to meet her?" The girl (_Alice?_) spoke that time, her voice high and clear and sweet; it reminded me of the stream between us, flowing cool and crystal-clear. "She's waiting for us, back home. You're supposed to come. She said she has some things to show you."

My mind reeled. Had I finally come across a human who could do what I do? If so, why didn't I know about this? Again, I had never, ever, been surprised. Confounded, yes, by someone changing their mind; confused, of course; even unsure at times. But surprised? By something as huge as this? Never.

Finally, I had to snap myself out of it. The prospect of finding out more about these strange people, and hearing that someone had something to show me, helped me to break the spell. I got to my feet and slowly crossed the stream to stand on the other shore with them: they were both a great deal taller than me, and smiled down at me eagerly, like children with a secret.

"L-lead on, then, by all means." I finally found my voice, even though it sounded a little squeaky.

Happily, the two humans turned and ran into the forest, their steps feather-light, hardly touching the ground. They were more graceful and swift than any human I'd ever seen. I followed them easily, though, my eyes adjusting to the shadows cast by the trees as we pressed further in. Eventually the ground began to slope upward, the trees thinning a bit, until we were almost halfway up one great hill.

Ahead, I saw a little house, smoke spiraling from the chimney up into the bright blue sky. It was built of weathered stone and roofed with thatch, but was neatly kept, surrounded by a fence, inside of which chickens scratched and a cow stood tranquilly chewing its cud. I saw horses in the back, and a few outbuildings.

The humans slowed to a walk and then stopped altogether in front of the door, which they opened without knocking.

"Mother!" Jasper called. "She's here!" He turned and gestured me forward. "Come in. She's waiting."

Numbly, I entered the house.

It was small but spotlessly neat, the furniture simple and rustic but immaculate. The wooden floor shone, and a spicy, flowery smell emanated from above; I glanced up and saw that the rafters were decked with bunches of dried or drying flowers and herbs. I saw two closed doors leading off the main room, probably to bedrooms, I assumed; the large room was living, dining, and kitchen areas all in one. In the kitchen area was a huge black cast-iron stove, and a human woman stood before it, stirring something.

She turned and smiled at me.

Once again, I was shocked.

She looked…well, she looked like a female version of Jasper. The same brows and forehead, the same chin and cheekbones, but more feminine. Her eyes were also bright blue. She was old, though, with her hair, which had once been a dark blonde, I think, fading to silver, and her skin loose and a bit parchment-like atop the beautiful bone structure of her face.

"Welcome to our home, Aunt Alice. I'm so glad to finally meet you. I've been waiting for you."

I shook my head trying to dispel the fog of confusion inside it and stared at her. "Waiting? For me? How?" And then, "_Aunt_?"

The woman smiled warmly, her eyes crinkling merrily at the corners. "I suppose you're not used to being surprised. Normally you're the one surprising people, I imagine?"

I could only nod, dumbfounded. I felt adrift at sea, drowning in insecurity.

"Well, why don't you come over here and sit down, and I'll tell you everything. We have much to talk about."

And so I sat.

"My name is Margaret Alice Whitlock Standing Bear. These are my children." She indicated the young people, who hovered, smiling, behind her. "My mother was named Virginia Whitlock. She came from Texas originally."

"Whitlock?"

Margaret nodded. "Yes. And her older brother's name was Jasper. The Jasper that _my_ Jasper here is named for. The Jasper you're going to meet in about six years, I think. We try to keep the names in the family."

Her mother's brother was my Jasper? _How is this possible_, I thought frantically, _I haven't even met him yet, and now I'm meeting his great-nieces and –nephew?_

As I have said before, our kind shouldn't be too surprised when odd things happen. I suppose that was Fate giving me a taste of my own medicine, laughing the entire time at my confusion.

Margaret cleared her throat and continued. "You see, Alice, my mother, Virginia, was thirteen when her brother Jasper left to serve in the Civil War. They were very close. It almost destroyed her, and their whole family, when he left, and then when it was reported that he had died." She shook her head sadly. "My mother told me stories of what happened. It was horrible.

"But my mother was a special woman, Alice. She could hear the voices of the spirits, she had since she was a child. They spoke to her, told her things that would happen, helped her. And she knew something was not right about Jasper, she never truly believed he was dead. She left home when she was very young and went looking for him, guided by the spirits that spoke to her."

Margaret stopped and stood up, going over to a chest pushed up against the wall. She opened it and pulled out a wooden box, brought it back to the table with her. I watched as she opened it and carefully brought out a stack of papers and photographs.

"Here are Jasper and Virginia, my mother, shortly before he left for the war."

She held out a photograph to me, a daguerreotype, black and sepia. My hands almost trembled as I took it.

Jasper looked out from the photograph, the hint of a smile playing on his lips; he was sitting with a girl, a beautiful girl, her long hair flowing down around her shoulders. They looked like they could have been twins, a pair of glorious lion cubs, had she not been obviously younger. Somehow, I knew that their eyes were blue, the same crystalline blue that shone in Margaret, Jasper and Alice's eyes at me now, even though the picture didn't show the color.

"And this is my mother and her husband, my father, William Standing Bear."

In this one, Virginia was older, a bit taller, and heartbreakingly beautiful as she smiled up at me from the picture; she was holding hands with a tall, dark, gorgeous young man. I glanced at my nephew (_!_)Jasper and saw then the mingling of William Standing Bear and Jasper and Virginia Whitlock in his features, and in young Alice's.

"As I said, my mother set out to search for him. And she found him after a while, although it was very dangerous. My father was with her, of course: they had eloped together when her family wouldn't permit them to be together openly. He was Indian, of course, and she was white, so no one approved. But they were in love. So, they left and, guided by the spirits, they went south, into Mexico, and they found Jasper."

"He's still there. He'll be leaving soon, though," I murmured absently, still staring down at the picture of Jasper and his sister. I traced every line of his human face with my fingertip, engraving it into my memory along with the visions of his immortal face that I already held there. Although it was not perfect as the immortal one was, seeing that human face brought a rush of heat that flowed through every cell of my body. It seemed to make him more _real_. Touching that photo was almost like being able to touch _him_.

Margaret chuckled. "Yes, we know."

I looked up at her. "So, you hear these spirits, too? They talk to you, like they did your mother?"

She nodded. "Yes. It runs in the family. Alice has the gift." Young Alice smiled brightly at me. "And Jasper…well, I am not at liberty to say, but he has inherited traits from the other side of the family." Jasper grinned wolfishly at me. I realized then that the odd scent I had detected before came from him. But before I could ask anything, Margaret went on with her story, distracting me.

"So, Virginia and William went down into Mexico, to Monterrey. And there, from afar, my mother saw her brother again, although she barely recognized him. He was…different. Not human anymore. Like you."

I nodded.

"The spirits counseled my mother not to try to talk to him, or even go any closer. They didn't think Jasper would hurt my mother, but they said my parents were in grave danger being there, because there were more of your kind nearby, and they might attack us if we were discovered. At the time, Mother was pregnant with me, and Father did not want to put us in harm's way." Her lips twitched wryly. "Also, it would be disruptive to the future, if she met Jasper again. There were other things planned for the future." She smiled gently and reached out, shockingly, to touch my hand. "_This_ was planned."

I could only stare at her and the young people in wonder, then gaze back down at the photograph of my man. My Jasper.

"After they left Jasper in Mexico, they went north, back to my father's people's lands here in the Black Hills. Mother had me here, in this cabin that my father built with his own hands." Margaret smiled at the stone walls. "When the rest of the tribe was sent north by the whites, we stayed. We knew the Protector would keep us safe."

I raised my eyebrows, a connection clicking in my mind. "Charles?"

She shook her head a little. "I do not know his name. We call him the Protector. He is one of your kind. He made a pact with my father's father to protect this land."

I nodded eagerly. "His name is Charles. I came here to meet him, and—"

"No, Alice. You came here to meet _us_. I have something to give you, to give to Jasper when you see him."

Margaret held out an envelope, the paper yellow with age, sealed, the name "Jasper" written on it in fading ink in an elegant, flowing script.

I took it gingerly and tucked it into my backpack, where it rested next to Alistair's letter for Carlisle. I was beginning to feel like the postal service.

"I know it will be a few years before you meet, but please, do give that to him. It will give him some peace, the spirits say."

"Of course, Margaret."

Just then there was a rap on the door; Jasper opened it, and there was Charles on the threshold, his eyes wild and angry.

"Why are you here?" he hissed at me. "You shouldn't be interfering with the humans here! I told you that!"

"Peace, sir." Margaret stood and held out her hand, palm out, as if to tell Charles to stop. What was wrong with these people, did they not know when to be afraid? "This meeting was foretold. There was a purpose."

He relaxed a bit, but still seemed unhappy. "Come away now, Alice. It's time to go, I think, foretold or not."

I glanced at Margaret, wondering if he was right. I felt completely lost without the warnings my visions normally gave me. She nodded gravely, turning to smile at me again.

"I won't ever see you again, Alice, but I am glad to have met you." She reached out and took my hand in hers, not flinching from the coldness of my marble-hard skin; the heat of her human skin flamed against mine shockingly.

"Please, tell my uncle that my mother loved and missed him. She died a few years ago, she didn't have much will to stay on after Father died. But they're still around: I talk to them quite often, actually." Her grin was mischievous and fun. I had to smile along. I couldn't exactly judge someone for talking to spirits…after all, I saw the future.

She pressed something into my hands: the picture of her parents. "Take this to him, as well. I have more of them. He might enjoy seeing the man who loved his sister from the moment he first saw her, and for all eternity."

I nodded, sliding the picture next to the letters, wishing it was the picture of Jasper himself...But I didn't dare be so crass or rude as to ask for that one.

I would often take that picture of Virginia and William out in the coming years, poring over Virginia's face, to see the traces of her brother's features there.

"Come now." Charles motioned for me. Obediently, but with a reluctant backwards glance at the little house, we disappeared back into the woods. The three humans had come out onto the porch to wave goodbye. It was hard to look away from them.

As we ran, Charles reluctantly explained some things to me.

Not only had he agreed to take on the responsibility of protecting the lands, he also protected that family in particular. Margaret's paternal grandfather had been the highest-ranking medicine man of the group that had formed the agreement with him in the first place. They remained on the lands to maintain a claim on them, just in case sometime in the future the tribe was allowed back, and to make sure Charles was doing his end of the bargain.

I never could get it out of him why he felt he should accept the oversight of a bunch of humans. It bothers me to this day, wondering what I missed, although I have some ideas.

And also, I wondered while we ran, why had I been so blind? What had happened to my sight? During our run through the forest, the visions came crashing back in like a tidal wave: I saw myself in the future, giving that letter to Jasper. It wasn't until many years later, after meeting the Quileutes, that so many pieces of the puzzle fell into place.

You see, apparently many Native American tribes have the shape-shifting ability. I never found out what form the Sioux could take, wolf or lion or grizzly bear or turkey or whatever, but that was the reason for young Jasper's odd, almost-animal scent, and why I couldn't see things in relation to their family: I can't see shape-shifters. Perhaps it's something to do with their ability to change, or something even more supernatural, but it's true. I can't see the Quileutes and I can't see the Sioux. I suppose I couldn't see any of the native tribes, if I were ever to have anything to do with them directly. I spent over fifty years kicking myself for not having the presence of mind to have asked Margaret more questions; I had wasted so much time goggling at pictures and being shocked that I'd missed a golden opportunity.

I stayed with Charles only a few more hours. He escorted me to the edge of the Black Hills and pointed me south. "You're welcome again in the future, Alice, but now I think it's best if you go."

I didn't try to press it. "Thank you for the hospitality, Charles."

"Go in peace, as you came."

"Of course."

And he was gone.

For the next six years I wandered aimlessly, always probing the future for when I should head east for my meeting with Jasper.

The letter seemed to be burning a hole in my pocket; oh, how many times I took it out and stared at it, wanting so badly to read it. I supposed I could have looked into the future and read it as Jasper held it in his hands, but it felt wrong somehow, like I was eavesdropping or being a voyeur. I knew the time would come when he would let me read it on my own, and until then, I tried to respect his privacy.

I watched the futures of the Cullens. I watched them wander all over the continent, settling down for a couple of years in various places, trying to have some kind of normalcy to their lives, but having to uproot themselves after graduation to keep Emmett and Edward out of the military draft. How frustrating for Edward, Emmett, and Rosalie, to have to attend high school so many times! I dreaded the prospect myself: I had several caps and gowns in my future as well.

I often looked into the future, straining to see Jasper's human family's future, but I never succeeded.

I watched Jasper as he traveled after leaving Maria, first with his friends Peter and Charlotte, and then on his own. I saw his sadness, his conflict, his depression. I saw him do things that ate him up inside as he tried to figure out how to be _him,_ how to cope with the stabbing pains of his growing sense of conscience, how to not be the monster he'd come to believe he was.

I couldn't cry real tears for him, but so many nights and days I sat and held the picture of his sister and her husband, rocking back and forth, shuddering in pain for him. I wished I could be there with him. I wished I could fly in the face of fate and change it all, so I could put my arms around him a few years early, just to spare him any pain. But I couldn't. I just had to trust that he'd come to me. I'd be waiting.

Then, finally, the time came. 1948 was born. I rang the new year in on a beach in Southern California, the moon full and swollen in the star-spangled sky overhead. I closed my eyes and inhaled the salty smell of the sea, felt the saltwater on my face. It would be a little while before I felt this again, but it was all right.

I turned my face to the east and set out for Philadelphia. I had a date with destiny.

_**Author's notes: **_

_***References to skin color or ethnicity (white, palefaces, Indians, red men, etc.) are used in the context of the views of the times during which this story is set, and do not reflect the author's opinions. Again, please do not confuse accurate portraying the sentiments of an era with agreeing with them. Thank you. J.B._

_***For those who haven't heard, you may also see my other story, Wind Whispers, which is a companion piece for The Long Road Home, based on the life of Virginia Whitlock. Here is the link:_

_.com/group/fanfiction/forum/topics/wind-whispers-the-story-of_

_or, if you're reading this on fanfiction(dot)net,_

_http://www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/s/5357523/1/Wind_Whispers_Virginias_Tale_

_***Also, I have tried to integrate my storyline along with the very talented Marie Winter's creation, The Newborn, which is Edward's own personal journey. Please read Marie's work, she is a wonderful author, a good friend and an excellent proofreader/somewhat-beta. Thanks, Marie!_

_.com/group/fanfiction/forum/topics/the-newborn-a-prelude_

_or, for fanfiction(dot)net, _

_http://www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/s/5367016/1/The_Newborn_


	10. Chapter 10: Boulevard of Broken Dreams

**Chapter 10: Boulevard of Broken Dreams**

_Freedom._

When you've never really had it before, it's intoxicating. The ability to go where you want, when you want, for whatever reason, or for none at all…Intoxicating is an understatement.

I left Monterrey, Maria and my misery behind me without a moment's hesitation, and have never suffered a single pang of regret for leaving. I count that as one of the best decisions I ever made.

Of course, the very best decision I ever made, and will ever make in the entire long course of my immortality, was waiting for me, six short years later, in Philadelphia.

It was the spring of 1942 and I was a free man.

Peter had told Charlotte to wait for him (and hopefully me, too) a few miles outside of Monterrey, and we found her there, in a little valley, tossing stones into the tiny stream that trickled through the rocks. I felt his excitement at the prospect of seeing her again mount as we ran.

When Charlotte saw us coming she stood up and ran towards us, throwing herself into Peter's waiting arms recklessly, a huge smile on her face.

"I missed you!" she gasped, wrapping her arms around his neck, kicking her heels up like a child.

Peter laughed. "Yes, I know, it was an interminable three hours for me as well." He kissed her soundly, twirling her around a bit, while they both laughed, just happy to be together again.

I had to turn and look away: their joy at being together was almost painful for me to see.

As I tried not to listen to the sounds of their reunion, I thought back for a moment to Maria, and how completely opposite our relationship had been to that of my friend's with his mate. The way Peter had spoken of Charlotte and their new life together had impacted me deeply; he seemed to genuinely like and respect Charlotte as a person, and he hungered for her in every way, I could feel it emanating from him in invisible waves as he'd talked. And now, with them both there before me, I could sense that she felt the same for him, and the combination of their feelings was so powerful, it staggered me.

With Maria it had been passionate and exciting at first: I had been entranced with her exotic beauty and her fiery personality and sensual nature, and had been amazed by the strength of her will. She had taken me in hand like a child, showed me the ropes, so to speak, educated me in so many ways…It hadn't all been unpleasant, that was for sure. In the beginning, at least.

After a few years with Maria, the enticing veneer began to flake away from my image of her, revealing nothing of value beneath it. Her fiery personality was extremely trying to be around for any length of time, but it was even worse for someone such as myself, who could feel every ripple of emotion from her. It was like being caught in a hurricane of feelings, and most of hers were negative, so it was a hurricane of thorny barbs and shards of glass. And I'd certainly never thought of her as my mate, nor did she of me.

And those last few years…They had been agonizing for me. I felt her gloating satisfaction when she thought she'd gotten away with another of her petty, disgusting betrayals. I felt her disgust for my "boring" personality. I felt her hunger for more and more of everything, especially more control over me, and her jealousy of my friendship with Peter. After Peter and Charlotte and the other newborns and yearlings had escaped, she'd been in such a rage that I'd been almost incapacitated by the force of it, I'd escaped her presence gladly to hunt new recruits. That was when I'd begun feeling her growing determination to get rid of me altogether, which had helped in the end: it made my decision to leave completely painless.

Now here I was, responsible to no one but myself. It felt strange, but thrilling at the same time, to know that I didn't have to worry anymore about pleasing Maria or being the perfect warrior. I hoped she wouldn't abuse the newborns I'd left her with too much.

I also hoped she didn't try to follow me, it was impossible to predict her behavior. I knew it wouldn't be hard to track my scent, so I thought perhaps it might be good to put as many miles between Monterrey and myself as quickly as possible. I suggested that to Peter and it immediately dampened the fire of their happy reunion.

"Yes, you're right," Peter murmured, still absently running his fingers through Charlotte's long dark-red hair. She looked up at me, wide-eyed and serious, and nodded in agreement.

"Yes, I don't want to have to see her if it can be avoided," Charlotte said quietly. Then she smiled at me. "But I am so glad you came away, Jasper. We're very happy to have you with us." Then she paused, her lips pursed in thought as she regarded me questioningly. "That is, if you're _staying_ with us?"

I nodded. "Thank you, Charlotte. At least for now, I would like to travel with you. If it's not too much of an inconvenience for…for you two."

She giggled and slapped Peter's chest playfully. "Don't worry, Jasper. They say three is a crowd, but we'll make it work. You'll just have to get used to us!" Then she reached out and laid one small hand on my arm, her expression and emotions serious again. "It's good you left Maria. She wasn't right for you." She shuddered, remembering Maria. So did I, a little.

"Amen to that," Peter seconded, grinning broadly. "Now perhaps you can find someone more suited to you, eh, old man?"

I rolled my eyes and smiled back ruefully. "So shall we run?" I glanced back toward the direction of Monterrey, which was hidden by the mountain, but I could almost feel Maria's presence back there, malevolent and bitter. "North?"

They agreed and we took off into the bright afternoon sun, heading north, not looking back.

We ran for two days, until we were in the cool green forests of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, which straddle the states of California and Nevada. We had run almost a thousand miles and finally I felt we had put enough distance between Maria and ourselves. We settled down temporarily just outside of Reno: the town was a bustling tourist trap even then, filled with strangers coming and going, and enough of the "unsavory element" of the human population to disguise our hunting habits for a while.

Peter and Charlotte tried their best to be easy to be around. Peter confessed to me that he'd told Charlotte my "secret," and that I shouldn't hesitate to tell them if I was uncomfortable, but how in the name of God could I tell the man not to love his mate so much?

So I dealt with it.

We settled into a rhythm: every few days we would head down into the city to hunt, sometimes separately, sometimes together. Occasionally we would do something silly such as attend a show or go into one of the many casinos, just for a lark.

It was strange being among all those humans, I could only accomplish it if I'd fed very recently: I'd have to put on sunglasses to hide my fiery eyes. Luckily the casinos were staffed by humans who were used to dealing with strange people, so I didn't cause too many raised eyebrows.

If I could master my temptation for the blood, the casinos were a great place for me. My gift made it easy to tell when someone was bluffing or if they had a good hand to play, so I won hand after hand in whatever card game I chose. Being Texan, of course I was especially partial to a good game of Texas Hold'em, a game which had been growing in popularity for some time.

Peter and Charlotte would hover behind me eagerly as I took the humans' money, then we'd go out and shop a little. Charlotte was a bit of a fashion plate, she'd discovered, and Peter adored dressing her up however she liked. It was endearing.

It was in Reno that I first identified myself as a vampire, really. There was a traveling version of the play "Dracula" that played at a local theatre. Of course the whole thing about garlic and crosses and silver, and not being able to come out in daylight, was all a farce, but the rest fit well enough. Blood-drinking immortals. Creatures of the night. Eternally damned? Perhaps.

Those were the easy times, the fun times. We laughed a lot. Sometimes at night we'd build a fire, even though we didn't need one, and sit around it all night long, telling stories and feeding twigs to the flames. I learned a lot about Charlotte and Peter, and even some things about myself, because in the retelling of your own history to others sometimes you see things about yourself you'd never realized.

But they were so very in love, and they'd been used to being alone for so long, that it was hard for them to…_restrain_ themselves. Being a vampire, gifted with a vampire's keen senses of hearing and smell, as well as my extra "sense," I could always tell what was going on. When the urge to be intimate struck them (which was often) they'd steal away into the forest, but truly, who were they fooling? They left a path of broken-down trees and trampled grass everywhere they went. And a trail of torn clothing. Which is another reason for Charlotte's frequent shopping trips.

But I played cool, I didn't want to offend my friends. When it got to be too much for me I'd take off for a day or so on my own. I'd climb a mountain and sit by myself on a windy ledge far above it all, reveling in the sheer absence of others' emotions. During those times I could look inside myself and try to find out more about who and what I was. I'd never really given much thought to myself during my long years with Maria: I'd been so focused on pleasing her and on my duties to the army that I didn't leave much time or desire for introspection.

I thought about my depression, which still lingered in the back of my soul, pushed aside by the fun and ease of this new life, but it never left entirely. Sometimes it surged back in, trying to take over again, but then I would divert myself somehow and it would retreat. But it was always there. Waiting for me to let it come home and reside, the owner of me again.

Why was I so melancholy? I wasn't with Maria anymore. I was my own man, making my own way in the world. I had good friends who cared for me. I had nothing to lose and everything to gain. Was sadness just so deeply entrenched in me after eighty years that I could never get rid of it?

I thought about what triggered it, but couldn't determine for sure whether it was one thing or many. I knew I began to feel depressed after being among humans, during our trips to the city, but paradoxically that was also when I felt happiest.

I also thought about the wrongness I had felt with Maria, how I had never felt we "fit." Now that I had seen what true soul mates could have, exemplified in Charlotte and Peter, I understood how very wrong Maria had been for me.

I watched them enviously.

They were always touching, even when they weren't feeling…intimate. He loved to pull his fingers through her auburn curls, or cup her cheek in his hand, and smile at her. She would stand next to him and twine their hands together, or stand behind him and tuck her arms through his, resting her joined hands against his stomach. They completed each other's sentences, sometimes, and whenever that happened would dissolve into a fit of laughter for minutes at a time. They laughed a lot.

I wished I could laugh so often, and so genuinely. When I did laugh it was often forced, or because I knew I was supposed to laugh at certain times. I'd seen enough plays and movies to understand modern humor, and I even enjoyed it, but it didn't come naturally to simply laugh for the sake of laughing.

My God, I cursed myself one particularly frustrating day, what a silly, ungrateful, melodramatic ass I am. I should be happy. I shouldn't feel like something is missing. I have a good life. How revolting is that, someone who has goodness in their life, but they're still dissatisfied?

I know now what I was missing then.

But I had to learn to appreciate that absence before I even knew it was there. That absence, that hole in my life, had a particular shape, one carved into my soul, deeper than the depression could ever go, and it would only be filled by _her_. I just had to feel it ache with emptiness for all those years, so that when the one who would fill it finally came into my life, I would feel it vanish with an agonizing sense of relief. I would feel whole for the first time in my long life, and forever afterward.

We left Reno after about a year. It was time to go: we'd begun making the papers. The local reporters were running stories about the string of murders and disappearances plaguing the city. The police were clueless. They had no leads. We never feared human discovery, but we did fear the Volturi. Once those kinds of stories start running, it isn't long before the enforcers show up, Peter said.

He and Charlotte had spoken to a few others of our kind during their wanderings. I was amazed at the fact that they hadn't fought anyone, but that wasn't the point. The point was that the Volturi had their spies everywhere; they kept eyes on the human media, looking for clues that an immortal was raging uncontrolled, or that another army might be forming, or for evidence of some kind of transgression. And once they found it, they always swooped in the take care of the problem. We didn't want to be another cipher on their tally sheet of exterminated menaces, so we parted ways with Reno a bit reluctantly, but without regret.

From there we headed west, into California. It was 1943. We traveled in a leisurely fashion, stopping for days or weeks at a time in some nice little town, where we'd take a few victims, enjoy the sights, and then move on. We made our way down the long California coastline, enjoying the scenery, sampling the locals. By the time we got to Los Angeles it was almost Halloween.

L.A. was a perfect place for a vampire to blend in, if you could manage to stay indoors during the daytime. At night, any number of odd human characters were roaming the streets, and there were many foreigners and travelers, so we found it very easy to camouflage our feeding habits.

Those were the golden days of cinema. We saw many, many movies, because a movie theatre is an excellent place for a vampire to hide during the day: dark, cool, and there is something to divert your attention. Also, movie theatres are not usually crowded during the daytime, so it was easier for me to be there, although sometimes the scent of the blood was almost maddening in the enclosed space.

I found that I was the least controlled of the three of us when it came to feeding, and it bothered me terribly.

I was offended by the fact that sweet little Charlotte, who was so much younger than I, could sit next to a human in the theatre and never bat an eyelash: I could feel her thirst, but she controlled it. Of course, sometimes she would trail the human out of the building after the movie was over and take them in a dark alley somewhere, but just being able to sit for hours at a time next to that human was almost beyond me, even when I had just fed.

And sometimes I just couldn't handle it, and bad things would happen.

One fateful afternoon I was watching Casablanca. I loved that movie, I'd seen it five times before that particular instance. I enjoyed the interplay between Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman, and the political drama of the underground fight against fascism. At that time the world was embroiled in World War II, a subject I'd taken an interest in during my movie-watching afternoons, due to the short newsreels they would play before and after the actual movie.

That day it was cool outside for L.A., the sky an overcast dull-gray, threatening rain, making it possible for us to be outside for longer than a moment. It was early December. Peter and Charlotte had wanted some "alone time" and hadn't felt like going to the theatre, instead heading for Santa Monica Piers to ride the roller-coaster. Hey, vampires like adrenaline rides, too.

So I let them go and dodged into the Million Dollar Theatre, seeing that they had a matinee of Casablanca showing in a few minutes. I pulled my hat down over my eyes a bit (I must say I cut a dashing figure in my own Rick Blaine-style fedora and trench coat back in those days) and paid for my ticket, then went into the theatre and took my seat in the middle of the room. I didn't like the back or the front, I always chose the middle seat in the middle row, if it was available. Better view of the screen, after all. That afternoon my normal seat was indeed open: I was the only one in the theatre.

They rolled through the newsreel (The Nazi bombing of Britain was intensifying, battles raged in Italy, and the Russians were advancing east) and then the cartoon. The opening credits for the movie were starting when it happened.

The girl flew through the doors and into the theatre, breathless as she unwound her scarf from around her neck and plopped into the seat two rows in front of me. She was small, thin, and quite plain, no more than eighteen, with frizzy brown hair and freckles, but she had a friendly, open smile when she turned around to look at me.

"Just in time, huh?" she whispered, giggling. "I couldn't stand to miss the beginning! It's my favorite part!"

And her scent struck me like a hammer, the scent of her blood, hot and sweet and mouth-watering, more fragrant than any flower, and more tempting than the smell of any food ever had been before my change.

I stiffened, the thirst screaming at me, tearing at my throat, my whole body tense as it warred against my will, trying mightily to overcome my self-control. I hadn't fed in several days, and it showed; I cursed myself for having been so stupid as to come out thirsty.

Oblivious to the fact that her doom sat two rows behind her in that movie theatre, the girl turned back around to focus on the screen, sighing happily as Humphrey Bogart appeared.

I sat there for the next few minutes, still as a marble statue, fighting myself. It was like the irresistible force versus the immovable object: I wanted to take that girl's life, to drink her blood, so badly that I thought I might die, but at the same time, I knew that if I did it would cause problems. I also felt some strange, obscure reluctance to kill her. I felt _bad_. She was just so happy and innocent as she sat there and ate her popcorn and giggled.

Then she reached up and carelessly flipped her hair back over her shoulder, and the tiny breeze that little motion caused drifted back to me.

It was over in a moment.

She never even had time to scream. I incapacitated her with a blow to the back of her head and pushed her down between the rows of seats and did what I did best in those days: drink.

After a few minutes I got up and left the theatre, just in time: the moment I put my hand on the door, it opened, admitting the usher and his flashlight. He smiled at me as he passed.

"Enjoy the show, mister?" The movie was barely twenty minutes in. "Hurry back, the best part's the ending!" the boy chirped, gesturing with his flashlight at the screen. I nodded coldly and brushed past him; I had to get out of there fast, before he discovered the body. I hurried out into the lobby, throwing the doors to the street open so hard the hinges groaned in protest. They banged shut just as the screaming started behind me.

Why had I done that? Why hadn't I just left? Why didn't I do something more creative with the body?

The memory of the girl's emotions washed over me like a bloody tide: her surprise and then fear, the taste of her pain on my tongue, her horror as she had looked up into my murderous red eyes. I was that last thing she saw.

And she'd smiled so prettily at me before, poor plain girl, so naïve. If only she'd picked another theatre, or another showing of the movie. Why had she come to that one, of all the other choices? I started getting angry at her, blaming the girl and her unwitting bad decision for my own unconscionable lack of restraint.

But then it struck me, how horribly foolish and selfish I was being. I thought about _her_, the girl, for a moment, like I never had thought about any human before.

Maybe she was a working girl, maybe she'd had a job as a typist or a secretary or something at a local business, and she only had that particular time to go to the movies. Maybe her parents didn't let her go to the movies, so she had to skip class to go to them. Maybe she was just a lonely girl who had nothing better to do during a windy December afternoon than go to the movies by herself.

As I pushed through the crowds on the street, lost in my thoughts, I saw the girl in her room, laying on her bed and dreaming about Humphrey Bogart. I saw her brushing out her frizzy brown hair and smiling that sweet smile into the mirror, maybe thinking about some young man in school or at work. I saw her sitting there in the movie theatre, popping her popcorn into her mouth with childlike enjoyment, relishing the movie.

And I'd ended it all, just like that. No more girl. Curtains closed, show's over.

When Peter and Charlotte came back to our rooms, (we'd taken a suite at the Beverly Wilshire,) they found me pacing back and forth like a madman. I wheeled to face Peter, feeling his emotions: he was a bit angry, frustrated, confused. Charlotte hovered behind him emanating the same things, as well as concern for me.

"Jasper, the police are investigating the death of a girl at the Million Dollar. The usher says he saw a man fitting your description coming out of the theatre right before he found the girl's body."

I nodded, staring down at the carpet in shame.

Charlotte came closer and lay her hand on my arm as she did when she wanted to calm me. "Jasper, dear, what happened?"

I sighed and turned away. "I don't know, Char. She just…she just smelled so _good_. And I was so thirsty, and I just couldn't help myself." Awful, empty, useless excuses.

She sighed too. "Well, it happens to us all, Jasper, but now we must get out of the city. That usher boy got a good look at you: he even said you had red eyes. The Volturi will hear about it before long, so we need to go."

I felt Peter's disapproval, but he didn't say anything. I was thankful for that: I was beating myself up quite enough as it was.

We left Los Angeles that night, heading east into the desert, crossing the Rocky Mountains and into the Plains States. After three days of traveling we settled on the outskirts of Wichita, Kansas.

During those days of traveling I submerged myself in self-hatred, until I almost drowned of it. I'd destroyed a good time for everyone. We'd really enjoyed Los Angeles, had been making plans to stay for a while. I'd made a horrible mess of it, putting us in danger.

And the other thing, the one thing that bothered me the most, the thing I didn't allow myself to acknowledge: I'd ended that girl's life, and I hated it.

I was horrible company for Pater and Charlotte. My poor friends, they tried so hard to be good to me, but it was hard for them, since my abilities aren't confined to simply feeling the emotions of others: I also project my own, so they were often caught in the grips of my bad humor.

We quarreled a few times, Peter and I, with Charlotte having to cut between us on more than one occasion to keep the verbal blows from becoming physical ones. Once the furor died down, I was always consumed with guilt about what I was doing to my friends and to myself, and I would have to go away from them for a while, to get some kind of hold over myself.

We left Wichita and drifted north, into Nebraska, then east again into Wisconsin. By the time we settled temporarily on the shores of Lake Superior, it was the summer of 1944.

We spent a while there, out in the middle of nowhere. Honestly, Peter and Charlotte kept to themselves, and I to myself, for theirs sakes, because I was so hard to be around. Sometimes we would go hunt together, making trips into Minneapolis or Madison or Saint Paul, or even as far away as Chicago if we wanted to take in a show, but those excursions together were dwindling in frequency. I found that I did better alone, when I knew I wasn't spoiling the moods of others. I was no fun to be with anymore.

One day, Peter came to me.

I was sitting at the edge of the massive lake, staring out into space, oblivious to the beauty of the scenery. I was, of course, sitting there stewing in my own foul juices, replaying the scene in the movie theatre over and over again, resulting in a mood so awful I was surprised a dark cloud didn't spontaneously materialize over my head and start raining on me to make my misery physical as well as emotional.

"Jasper."

I looked up. I'd known he was coming, of course, I could feel it, could smell his unique scent on the cool autumn breeze. He came and sat down beside me, picking up a handful of pebbles from the ground, which he began tossing into the water. I remembered Charlotte doing that the day I had left Maria.

"Jasper," he began, drawing a deep breath, "I think we need to talk."

I could feel his concern for me, bone-deep. No anger, no resentment, nothing but concern for his friend. My guilt intensified: I didn't deserve him.

"Jasper, Charlotte and I wanted you to come with us, away from Maria, because we felt like you are too much of a good man to be wasted on her. And I knew you were unhappy with her, with your life there, even if I don't have your talents. That much was obvious."

I nodded but didn't speak.

"And we have been so happy to have you with us. I know we haven't been…well, ahem, we haven't been easy for you to be around sometimes, but we love you and don't want you to think you aren't welcome. But it's obvious you're unhappy."

I nodded again.

He cleared his throat and tossed another stone. "I know you're depressed, Jasper. You always have been, though you try to hide it. But it's gotten worse lately, since Los Angeles. Obviously."

I flinched. "I'm sorry, Peter, I have no excuses—"

He stopped me, holding out his hand to me, palm out, like my words might bounce off it. "Shut up and listen to me. No more apologies."

I shut up and listened.

"I have noticed something about you, and it really confuses me. I knew you were depressed, I knew you were unhappy, and I started watching you more closely. I wanted to see if I could understand _why_ you were so unhappy, what set it off."

I nodded wordlessly. I'd been doing the same thing.

"And even though it really boggles my mind, Jasper, the only thing I can connect with your spells of depression is that whenever you feed on a human, you end up unhappy."

I blinked, completely at a loss for words.

Was he right?

_Yes. _Suddenly, everything clicked neatly into place.

"I don't know what happened with that girl in Los Angeles, but it was like the cherry on the sundae. A rotten cherry. You changed. You have been feeling so guilty, and it's not just because you acted foolishly. It's because you feel bad about killing her, don't you?"

I could only nod. It was true. In the deepest, most shameful parts of me, it was true. I hated killing her, I hated killing _anyone_. I hated the storm of emotions that beset me with every kill, it was the same, over and over again: fear, agony, despair. It bathed me, it covered me, it consumed me. Every time I did it I snuffed out a future. I saw the humans as something more than prey, I saw them as people: it could have been _me_ dying, it could have been my _little sister_…

"Jasper, you need to just learn to accept what you are. We're immortal. We're… well, we're _vampires_, you made me, after all. You told me I had a choice and I made it, and I haven't regretted it. Yes, I feel bad sometimes, but it's survival of the fittest, after all." Peter chucked a big stone into the lake, creating a splash and a ring of ripples. He smiled and I felt the wash of love from him. "And anyway, if not for the change I never would have found Charlotte, and now I have all of eternity to spend with her. Drinking blood is worth it, for that."

Again, a surge of the intense love he felt for his mate. It was like salt on an open wound. It burned.

"I wish I could have what you have with her, Peter. Maybe it would be easier for me, then." My voice was ragged with the tears I couldn't ever shed.

He sighed. "Yes, I think so, really, my friend. A woman, a companion, someone who loved and appreciated you, who could understand you…I think it would be just what you need. Perhaps you should go looking for someone."

I chuckled humorlessly. "Do you want me to leave you so badly, Peter?"

He looked at me, eyes wide in horror. "No, Jasper! No!" He reached out and clasped my shoulder. "Never. You're our friend, like my brother, and you'd always be welcome with us. But maybe…" He shook his head sadly. "Just maybe, you should think about traveling alone for a while. Try to meet new people, do new things. Maybe you'll meet someone, maybe not. Or maybe you'll be able to come to grips with yourself, stop beating yourself up over who and what you are."

"And who and what am I, exactly?"

He laughed. "A cold-blooded killer, of course. A vampire. Nothing more, nothing less. And there's no shame in it, Jasper."

I couldn't do anything but stare back at him mutely. I knew he was right, but still, in the back of my mind was that girl's sweet smile, and the feeling that something wasn't right, nibbling at me.

"Maybe you're right," I whispered eventually. "I think I'll go my way for a while. See if I can work this out."

Peter smiled sadly. "I wish you didn't have to go, but I think it's best, for you. We'll miss you. And you know, whenever you want to, you can come back. Charlotte will be devastated to know you're going."

I thought about little Charlotte, pert and sweet and loving, and felt sad about making _her_ sad. "Will you tell her goodbye for me, and give her a kiss?" I rolled my eyes. "But a kiss from _me_. Not one of _your_ kisses."

Peter laughed and chucked me on the arm with his fist. "Of course, man, of course." Then he sobered. "Be careful. And come back, ok?"

"Of course. Thank you for being such a good friend, Peter."

"Of course. Always."

And he was gone.

I stared out at the lake for a long time, at the silvery gray water below, at the pale blue sky above, at the rich green of the forests that crept all the way up to the shore, casting their reflections onto the lake. Water birds called mournfully, answered by the little frogs hidden among the reeds. The wind sang among the cattails.

Where would I go? I had no idea. I thought of the map of the country and nothing had any appeal to me, no place drew me. Should I go north, south, east, west? South was out, of course. I wanted nothing to do with Maria. I'd been west, I'd been north…so perhaps east.

That was the summer of 1944. So I set out on my own, a vagabond blown by the winds, aimless, solitary, drifting along, consumed by my own emptiness.

I'd decided originally to go east, but for some reason that seemed wrong, so I went west for a while, and then gradually headed south, and then a bit east, until I found myself in Texas.

I was reluctant to go further once I passed Amarillo, but suddenly I was struck with the desire to see my family's home again. So I headed east and south some more, towards Houston.

I knew Mother and Father were dead by then, and probably Ginny, too. But I wondered about the farm, whether it was still in our family. I wanted to know if Ginny had married and had children, whether they still tended our place. I wanted to put flowers on my parents' graves, to tell them I was well (in a way) and wish them goodbye.

Despite it having been almost ninety years since I had left it, I found our farm easily.

It was still there, but obviously the passing of time had changed it. The house was the same, with the exception that the zinc roof had been replaced with shingles, the porch was bigger, and the building had been repainted a buttery yellow instead of the pale cream it had been when I left. The outbuildings were larger and more modern, and a shiny new grain silo stood proudly among the barns, advertising prosperity.

I watched from a distance as the humans working the farm went about their daily business. I recognized no one, of course, but I still scrutinized every face, looking for resemblances to people I'd once known, a lifetime ago.

After a while I realized that the farm was run by a completely different family. They were a white family with several small children, and none of them were Whitlocks. I saw the name on the mailbox and the little sign next to the front door: "Welcome to the Vance's! Come on in!"

So my family was gone, and I had no idea what had happened to them. I couldn't stay any longer, but I had to find out one thing. I took off in the direction of the church, seeking out the cemetery.

The little Presbyterian church was still the same, although behind the red brick main building was a smaller mobile unit, which seemed to house the childrens' and music departments. The cemetery was still there, of course. I waited until dusk fell before stealing in through the gate, and spent the next few minutes examining tombstones.

Then I found them.

_Jasper Charles Whitlock II, born April 15, 1829, died March 9, 1871. Beloved father and husband._

_Margaret Anne Whitlock, born January 3, 1831, died March 7, 1871. Beloved wife and mother._

_Parents to Jasper Charles Whitlock III, who died a patriot in 1862, _

_And_

_Virginia Lucille Whitlock Standing._

"_Lo, I stand at the door…"_

It was one large stone, silver-veined grey marble, crowned with a weeping angel.

I sunk to my knees in front of the weathered tombstone. The letters were fading with time, the grass growing up around the stone as if hardly anyone tended them. No flowers, not even wilted dead ones, decorated the graves.

They'd died within days of each other, my parents. How strange. I wondered what had happened, and I decided it was better not knowing.

I sat there for a long time, my head down, still and cold as those tombstones, wondering what to do with myself.

Dead. The farm owned by strangers. And no tombstone for Ginny. There was no date for her death…and her last name was different. She'd married, and was probably still living, or at the least buried elsewhere. What had happened to her?

I was struck by the sudden desire to go look for her. Should I? Or…or did I pose a danger to her?

Suddenly the image of my little sister, covered in blood, dead white, eyes staring and lifeless, bowled me over; I shrank from that image, terrified: I was a monster, after all, I had no control over myself, I couldn't be trusted with a stranger, much less my own sister! She was too precious to risk.

So I pushed that thought away. Every now and then over the next few years I would think of Ginny and feel a magnetic tug in the direction of the west, like I could feel her somewhere out there. But something kept telling me _no, stop, wait_. And my patience was eventually rewarded, but I'll get to that a bit later.

One thing I did do while still there in Texas was check up on my old friends, Henry and Newton Berryman.

I'd left them in Houston after the Battle of Galveston Harbor in 1862; Henry had been sick with yellow fever, and Newt stayed to nurse him. I wanted to know what happened to my old friends, whether they'd survived the war, whether they'd ever married and what had become of them.

I found their descendants living in the same place, some scattered across the state and the country, but the core was still there. Both my friends had married and had children, and died old men in their beds, satisfied and happy with their lives.

Good, I told myself. They deserved it. So much better that they hadn't been on that dusty Texas highway with me that fateful night: they hadn't been damned to an eternity of predation and regret, like I had been. I was sad that they were gone, but I had their memories to comfort me, and the fact that they'd escaped my fate.

From Texas I went north and north some more. I ended up in South Dakota.

The wide, empty expanses of prairie appealed to me. I found I could sit and just enjoy the simple feeling of the wind in my face and the grass beneath me without constantly being bombarded by the feelings of others. I pulled some measure of peace in from my surroundings and tried to fill myself up with it, hoping it would soothe my own frayed edges.

I was lonely. So very lonely. But I knew that I couldn't be around others, whether immortal or human. I was absolutely no good to anyone, not even to myself, but I couldn't escape _me_, so I did the right thing and stayed away from others. I thought of Peter and Charlotte often and felt sad, but I knew it was for the best. I didn't want to forever be the dark cloud following them, raining on their parade.

When I got thirsty, I headed west into Sioux City. It wasn't a big city then, but there was enough traffic through there, tourists and truckers and drifters on their ways to parts unknown, that I managed to do well for myself.

Of course, every time I fed I was again consumed with that same odd guilt.

I couldn't understand the guilt. Well, I _understood_ it, but it didn't make sense to me. I was an immortal, a vampire. I subsisted on the blood of humans. Period.

I couldn't eat human food anymore: even if the food didn't disgust me, if I tried to eat something it would simply stay in my dead stomach forever until I disgorged it. Ugh. The thought of eating the flesh of animals or various preparations of roots and leaves and the products of trees was horribly revolting. So, obviously, I couldn't just give up blood for food to avoid my guilt.

And not drinking at all wasn't possible. Eventually the thirst would overcome me and I'd probably go on a raging rampage and get myself into trouble. Besides, I was depressed, but I wasn't suicidal. I had no desire to die, or perhaps to cease existing is a better term, since most would not label my kind as being "alive."

So what was I to do?

What else could I do? I would hold myself back from feeding as long as possible, then I would take only as many humans as would just barely slake my thirst, then go back to fasting again until it became unbearable once more. The bitter cycle never ended.

I was roaming through the Badlands when Charles found me.

I crested the top of a hill and came face-to-face with his ancient musket rifle. It was actually a little funny, the serious set of his face, his bearded jaw set stubbornly.

It struck me as terribly incongruous, a bloodthirsty killing machine of an immortal like him, waving an obsolete and probably unloaded gun in my face. I could have tied the barrel into a neat bow before he ever got off a shot—unless he'd anticipated my moves and tied the knot around my neck instead.

His beard also bemused me. A bearded vampire. I had never seen the like.

"You're not welcome here, fellow, so please yourself to just turn around and go back to wherever you came from, all right?" His accent was French, his eyes were deadly serious, and I could feel his hostility and resolve to eject me from his territory. I didn't think it would be an easy fight, either, and began preparing myself for a battle.

But I didn't think I should just jump into it; I didn't want to fight him. And I was curious about his zeal. I raised my eyebrows in surprise. "I apologize if I've trespassed, friend, but I had no idea you'd claimed these lands." I pushed a surge of calm toward him, wrapped him with it, like I had done with the frightened humans I "recruited" for Maria, like I did with the yearlings, before…

He blinked lazily, the muzzle of the rifle dipping slightly. "Eh, no harm done, I suppose." He shook his head a bit, as if trying to rid himself of the sleepy peacefulness I was filling him with.

I stuck out my hand to shake, knowing that physical touch would augment my powers. He hesitantly took it, the rifle slipping a bit more, until the end of it rested in the grass at our feet.

"My name is Jasper."

"Charles," he muttered in response, shaking his head again. "_Sacre dieu_, what are you doing to me?" Charles cocked a suspicious eye at me. "You're making me feel like this, aren't you? Happy? Calm?"

I couldn't help but smile a little, but I didn't try to lie. "Yes." The fact that he'd realized it amazed me: he was extremely perceptive. Most people, human or immortal, don't have such a grasp of the texture and tenor of their own emotions.

He sighed and chuckled. "If I promise to be good, will you promise the same? So you can stop messing with my mind?" I felt his defensive nature soften a bit, and I reined in my "help." He visibly relaxed, straightening a bit to look me in the eye.

"_Merde_. What kind of luck I have, to meet two of you in such a short time. Freaks among freaks, if I may say." He grinned at me apologetically. "Sorry. But we have enough strangeness about us in this new life, having some extra ability is…almost excessive. To me. "

I shook my head slowly, wondering about who he had met who was also "gifted." Was it one of the ones I had released before, during my servitude to Maria? Or someone else? "No offense taken."

Charles looked around. "No more of you, then? Just you? No one invisible lurking about? Anyone flying above?"

I laughed. "No."

"So then, Jasper, why are you here? Just wandering?"

I nodded.

He cleared his throat and stuck his thumbs into his belt loops, rocking back on his heels a bit to look me up and down. "Good then. But I'm guardian of these lands, from the Badlands to the western edges of the Black Hills. So I'd be pleased if you would respect those boundaries, and not hunt here. There is plenty of good hunting to the east, south, and north. Just stay out of that area, _bien_?"

"Guardian?" I was intrigued. "Of what?"

He shook his head. "That's my tale to tell, and I choose who I tell it to…and I choose not to tell it to you, stranger."

I was a bit taken aback by his rudeness, but decided to let it go: I wasn't in love with the area, I could have my solitude elsewhere, of course. But it did feel a little strange to be ejected from somewhere. Normally, when Peter, Charlotte and myself had run across other immortals with territories, they permitted hunting as long as we had asked permission first. To be banned without explanation was odd, but I didn't feel compelled to pull it out of him.

"Well, thank you for your time, Charles. I wish you well." I stuck out my hand again to shake it goodbye, and he took it.

"Say, what is your name again?" he asked suddenly, peering into my face so intensely I wondered if something was wrong with me. "Jasper?"

I nodded. "Yes. Jasper Whitlock."

He froze, the marble statue of a man in a coonskin cap, his eyes wide as he stared at me. "Whitlock. Jasper Whitlock," he murmured finally, breaking his stillness after a long, disconcerting silence. "_Sacre bleu_, _je vous jure, c'est un petit monde_."

I didn't understand the French entirely (I hadn't really devoted much time to studying human languages yet), but I knew it was something about the world being small. When he said nothing else, I shrugged and turned to leave without another word. Charles was odd, and I wanted to put distance between us.

"_J'espère que vous trouverez ce que vous cherchez, et vite! __Bonne chance!"_

His voice trailed after me. Something about finding what I was seeking soon, and good luck. As I ran I shook my head in frustration. I had no idea what he meant.

It was 1947. I had been alone for three long and lonely years, and I was tired of wandering. Tired of being a rolling stone, tired of being without a companion of some kind. I began to entertain the idea of trying to find Peter and Charlotte, thinking that perhaps I could deal with their company better now, after being by myself for so long.

But I didn't think it was a good idea. I was still depressed, actually more so than I had been since being with Maria. And now I knew why, but I had no idea what to do about it.

Every time I took another life, the mountain of guilt towered further, shadowing my soul even more. Every drop of blood taken stained me, until I felt blacker than a moonless night, a dirty monster.

I had a difficult time remembering anything except my existence as an immortal. I could barely remember Ginny's face, it was clouded over by years and the vagueness of my mortal eyesight. I struggled to remember my mother and father, my friends, my life before Maria.

I even tried to think of the battles I'd fought, so different from the ones I fought as a vampire. There had been something about those battles, man against man for a cause, such delicate and frail creatures fighting each other for some idea with silly little metal weapons…It was frivolous, yes, but there was something in that kind of warring that made me remember being human again. Having something to fight for. Feeling like I had a purpose, that I was doing the right thing.

I stayed away from blood as much as I could, but it was so hard. I'd never had to restrain myself before, and even though I'd been away from Maria for five years, I hadn't gotten much better at self-control than I had been when I left her. Eventually my eyes would blacken and the thirst would rage uncontrollably, searing my throat, until I couldn't handle it anymore, and I would slip down into some city and destroy some unwitting, innocent person's life. All because I was thirsty.

I was at war with myself. On one hand I knew my body demanded what it demanded because that was what I was: a predator. And it wasn't selfish of the lion to hunt the gazelle, the bear didn't have any pity or compassion for the salmon, not even the human hunter really cared much for the animals they killed to consume, despite their more advanced emotional capabilities. I shouldn't feel guilty for being true to my nature, right?

But the lion and the bear had never been the gazelle or the salmon, nor the human his prey. I _had_ been my prey. I had been one of them, seeing my death in Maria's flaming eyes that last night of my mortality. I'd felt so afraid, paralyzed by her beauty and by my terror. And I knew exactly how every one of my victims felt: the same as I had. They were dazzled by my beauty, dazed by my speed and strength, terrified by what they saw coming for them in my eyes.

And when I did kill, for a moment, as I felt their lives draining away, I saw again a glimpse of my own humanity. I felt their fear and pain. I remembered my own. And the guilt would come crashing down again, like a mountain falling upon me.

I kept a list of them in my mind, beginning after Peter helped me realize why I was so melancholy. Not like Edward's list, as he told me about years later, where he knew every person's name. I just remembered their faces, and I remembered the taste of their emotions, and when and where I'd taken their lives. I could never atone for what I did, could never make reparations like Edward could, but I have always mourned them and thanked them posthumously for their helping to return me eventually to some semblance of civilization. Because going through that list, that mental photo album of their images, helps me to keep going in my new life.

Before I knew it, it was late spring in 1948. I had drifted east steadily for the previous several months, venturing into areas of the country I'd rarely visited in my entire long life. I headed north up the Atlantic coast, through Virginia (thinking about my mother and Ginny) and into Maryland, and eventually into Pennsylvania.

I sat on a hilltop looking down into the city one night and wondered why I was feeling a strange sense of anticipation. I watched storm clouds roll in from the north, covering the stars with a dark blanket, obscuring the moon, listening to the thunder begin. It would storm for a day or so, I could feel it in the air pressure, which was dropping sharply.

I stared down at Philadelphia. I'd been camping in the woods south of the city for a few days, fighting with myself: I was thirsty, and I knew I needed to feed. I'd been putting it off for two weeks, trying to make it to three, something I'd only managed to do twice before.

It was a good-sized city. Full of undesirables and nameless ones, ones who wouldn't be missed.

But I would remember them.

I sighed and lay back in the grass, pillowing my head on my arms, as I watched the curdling clouds above. I would go down in the morning, I decided. When the rain was heaviest, I could roam the streets even in the daytime without being noticed. It had been a long time since I'd gone among humans during the day, and I decided that I would try it.

So I closed my eyes and replayed my list behind my eyelids, trying to prepare myself for the challenge I was setting.

How surprised I was, when nothing turned out the way I thought it would.

But there has never been a more pleasant surprise in the history of surprises.

Ever.


	11. Chapter 11: Merge

**Author's Note: **Credit where credit is due: A big HUGE shout out to my friend, **Marie Winters, AKA BelladonnaCullen**. Not only is she an awesome beta/editor/friend/shoulder to cry on, she also crafted a story called **The Necklace** (a work in progress, but definitely worth checking out), which is an A/J sequel to her amazing story, Prelude. I used a couple of chapters from The Necklace to model this TLRH chapter after, so if you like mine, please read her story and let her know how great it is, too! She writes so well and does such justice to the characters that I felt I could join my little Twi-world with hers, and she generously allowed me to do so. Here's the link, it's not on TTS because it's not PG-13, so if you're under 18, be good and stay away!!! .net/s/5424515/1/ (http(colon)//www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/s/5424515/1/)

**Chapter 11: Merge**

**APOV:**

The anticipation was killing me.

It was April 15, 1948. I had to wait until April 23. Eight more days.

_Eight. More. Days._

I'd gotten into Philadelphia the day before, and I'd taken a suite at the Bellevue Hotel, a beautiful old hotel in the historic downtown area. My rooms were on the fourth floor, so I had a great view, if I cared. I leaned out the window and pillowed my chin on my arms, looking out but not seeing anything.

My mind was elsewhere.

For twenty-eight years, I'd been waiting for this time to come. I'd awakened from that burning darkness with his face blazing in my mind, knowing that he was my destiny before I even realized my own name. He was my Pole Star, my true north, the direction the needle of my internal compass would always point, the thing which oriented me in life. And I'd never met him before.

But I would. In eight days.

_Jasper._

I closed my eyes to the city below, not caring about Liberty Bells or Constitution Halls. I only wanted to see his face, his eyes, his smile. I wanted to see them in _front_ of me, not behind my eyelids, like I had been seeing them for almost three decades. I shivered when I thought about the things that would be coming, firsts of all kinds, in a little less than eight days.

190 hours. 11,342 minutes. 680,520 seconds. And counting.

I opened my eyes again and sighed. I had to get up and do something, anything, to distract myself. I had things I could do. So I shrugged into my coat (it was chilly outside, so the humans would be wearing coats) and went out of the room, down through the lobby and out onto the street, looking ahead into the future, making my plans.

I went shopping.

It turned out Philadelphia was a fine place to hunt in a bloodless fashion. I started out on Walnut Street and made my way through the downtown area, flitting in and out of stores until I resembled a little pack mule. Then I took it all back to my room and went back out again. I had a lot of shopping to do: since I'd been traveling incognito and with no baggage to speak of for the past several years, I had a lot of wardrobe to make up for…and since I'd be meeting Jasper soon, I thought it would be nice to look my best.

I also had to do some shopping for him. Poor thing, he would come to me as dirty and bedraggled as a baby bird fallen from its nest, and just as lost and confused. I thought a stack of new clothes and such would be a good way to make him feel more comfortable.

Of course, I had some serious hopes that the clothes wouldn't be _on_ him very often.

Goodness!

Those kinds of naughty ideas had been coming much more frequently in the past couple of weeks than they ever had before, and it flustered me when it happened.

I had always gotten those kinds of thoughts and urges, of course, I was only human (well, sort of). I had just pushed them down, knowing that it would only be frustrating to allow myself too much romantic or sensual daydreaming when my man was years and years and miles and miles away. But now, knowing that he was physically so close, and those minutes were ticking by so rapidly, I felt those things I had walled up inside me battering against the barrier, trying to break free.

I became more and more aware of my body, of my senses. As I walked I felt the delicious whisper of the fabric of my silk slip against my silk-stockinged thighs, the friction as they just barely touched with every step; I felt the breeze in my face like a lover's caress that set every nerve ending to tingling like a plucked guitar string. I felt a ball of tension in the pit of my stomach, almost painful anticipation, something that had been building for years and had gone ignored until now, something at the point of exploding, and consuming me with it.

I closed my eyes for a moment and allowed myself to dream a little.

I saw the meeting of skin on skin, his and mine, so similar, but his marked with the silvery scars of his battles; I could almost feel them beneath my fingertips, under my lips, I imagined I could smell him, feel the hardness of his body against mine, the strength of his arms when he would hold me. My bones melted like butter in the scorching sun. My head spun with the fantasy of his teeth on my shoulder, the feathery touch of his fingertips down my spine…

If this was how it was before we'd even met, I wondered: Was this how it was it going to be, once we met? Was that how it would feel all the time? More?

Goodness, we would never be able to leave the room!

I shook my head to try to free it of the lingering images, knowing the humans passing me thought I looked a bit odd as I did it. If only they knew what I was thinking!

I went into a pharmacy and bought all kind of nice things. Fine soap and shampoo, sweet-smelling creams for the skin—our skin wasn't as permeable as that of humans, of course, but it was still nice to use. A back-scrubbing brush with stiff bristles. Combs and brushes, all the stuff to make one feel clean and beautiful. I saw that a bath would be in the future, and I wanted to be prepared. Prepared for him.

Once I'd amassed a mountain of clothing, toiletries and the various and sundry items that would complete our wardrobes, I went to the library, city hall, and a stationer's shop for my next project, returning to my room with my haul. That job would take quite a while, and was best done in private.

As I mentioned before, I'd had identity documents while living in New York, which helped me to keep control over my finances and do things like book passage on ships, register for hotels, hold bank and investment accounts, etc. In 1920, when I had become conscious, it hadn't been such a big deal, and it was simple to forge such thingsdocuments. There was no such thing as a photographic identification card. But as the world got more and more modern, it was harder for a person to just slip anonymously through the cracks of society, and now that it was almost 1950, the need to be identified was extremely important, and the procedures had changed.

I had maintained my identity in various ways; according to my most recent birth certificate, I was the daughter of the woman I'd been in New York in 1929.; Now, Ithe new me, Alice the daughter, had been born in Paris in 1930. I could easily pass for eighteen, although I did look younger, since I was so small. The former Alice Smith (I didn't know my real last name, so I picked a generic one) had a forged death certificate from the coroner's office in Paris, supposedly having died of pneumonia in 1937, leaving an ironclad will declaring her daughter heir to all her assets. I had also thought ahead while in Paris: I had gotten a birth certificate forged for Jasper as well, but he needed other things besides that.

Over the course of the next couple of days, I forged a passport for each of us, lacking only the photographs, which I would have done once we had met. It took time because that was before the era of computers and advanced graphics, and I couldn't just look up anything I wanted on the internet.

I had to first steal a passport from a French tourist so I had a template to go by, then find the proper materials (special papers and stamps and such), then make the little booklet layer by layer, allowing each one to dry properly. It is good work for an immortal, requiring excellent coordination and attention to detail, as well as patience.

Then, I forged birth and death certificates for Jasper's "father" and "mother," Americans who had supposedly traveled to and also died in France (car accident, I decided). Those were necessary because if Jasper was to claim American citizenship and be issued a United States passport, he'd have to prove his parents had been born here. I tried to cover all the bases: I knew my American patriotic war hero would not want to be labeled as French. I doubted he even spoke French, actually.

After a few days, it was all done, waiting in an expectant little pile on the desk in my hotel room. All I needed was the photo, and then we could go down together to City Hall and request U.S. passports. He could open a bank account, travel in a civilized fashion if he chose, do whatever he liked, just like me. I thought it would be nice for him, to not have to hide anymore. I felt that he was the kind of man who liked to be as honest about everything possible, and that his current lifestyle of skulking in the shadows had made him feel lonely and low.

Three days, a bit less. 76 hours. 4560 minutes. 273,600 seconds. And counting.

I passed the remaining time nervously. I tried on my clothes and picked out what I would wear, changing it seven times. Dress? Blouse and skirt? Pants? I kept changing my mind so many times that I confused my own visions, and ended up picking one at random…then I changed it yet again. A girl couldn't be too careful: it would be _his_ first impression, after all!

I went hunting, finding a good place in Fairmount Park, where there were deer aplenty. I saw myself there shortly, with him, showing him how to hunt animals instead of people. I looked ahead and gloried in the childlike happiness I saw on his face when he realized he didn't have to hunt people anymore. He no longer had to starve himself for weeks at a time, to not die a little death every time he killed a human. I knew that it anguished him to kill people, based on what I'd seen Peter telling him before they split from each other. I also saw it on his face when I had seen him feed in past visions. I knew he was ripe for a change of diet.

I saw the primal enjoyment of his pursuit of prey and the kill itself, the guiltless kill, which satisfied no matter what the blood tasted like.

My god, how he moved! Like a lion, so dangerously graceful, his movements so fluid and smooth, completely unconscious of the way his body worked but completely in control of himself. My lion.

I saw our first kiss. And our second. And then…

I tried very, very hard not to see what would happen later that night. I wanted to savor it when it happened, keep it as much of a delicious surprise as I could, not make it commonplace by reviewing it over and over again.

But oh my, was it difficult to not watch those visions.

One day. Twenty-two hours. 1320 minutes. 79,200 seconds.

I went scouting to find the diner I would meet him in. It was in one of the scarier parts of the city, down near the docks and warehouses, a ramshackle old place with a brisk clientele, attesting to the fact that the food must be good, even if the outside looked like a dump. But I didn't care about that, of course.

I didn't go in, just glanced through a window, and saw my tablewhere I would sit right away, at the greasy little counter. I saw myself sitting there when he walked in, my poor, dirty, rain-soaked lion of a man, looking for something and not knowing it was me, sitting there waiting for him. Like I'd been waiting for him all along.

As I went back to the hotel, I wondered to myself about many things. Was he aware of me in any way, had he been feeling like something was missing from his life for all this time?

Of course, he'd been around much longer than myself; he'd been a vampire for fifty-eight years when I awoke in 1920. And then, he'd been with _that woman_. I knew better than to delude myself that he'd had me in his head all that time, of course not, probably not even the vaguest idea of someone like me. But a girl could hope, that maybe, just maybe, he'd realized something was missing, someone was waiting, waiting for him.

I wondered aboutpondered his past, before I started seeing him. Of course, since I only see the future, I knew nothing of what he'd been through before 1920, at least not by my visions. I knew he'd been turned long before, I'd looked him up during my travels and knew he was born in 1844, and was listed among the Civil War dead in 1862, following the Battle of Galveston Harbor. He'd been awarded a medal for honor and bravery by the Confederate Army. And I knew that he'd traveled to Mexico with Maria and stayed with her there. I actually saw him post-1920, embroiled in Maria's petty wars and plots for revenge, always obedient and willing but always with this certain air…sadness, disgust, frustration. Anger.

I'd seen how she treated him, in those years after 1920, how she disrespected him, plotted against him. Baited him and fought with him. And I saw how he'd left her so easily…and that was nothing but sheer joy for me.

I smiled a little to myself as I allowed myself for the first time to page through the visions I'd had of Maria, after Jasper had left her. Of course I hadn't wanted to see them, but once I have become attuned to someone, it is difficult to shut them out entirely, especially if something important is going to happen. I'd gotten attuned to her due to her proximity to him (and, let's face it, her importance to him as well…), and when he left her it lessened, but didn't go away altogether. To this day, I sometimes get "bulletins" about her. But I don't really care.

Maria had thrown a temper tantrum to rival a string of tornadoes after she discovered Jasper was gone. She had smelled Peter's scent and knew Jasper had left with him. She'd chased them for a while, but then gave it up when she realized it was futile. She'd gone back to Monterrey and laid waste to the place for a while, like a child when they don't get their way, destroying the things they value the most in a fit of pique and rage. Poor Monterrey, all those pretty white buildings pulverized by that shrieking banshee's wrath. They didn't deserve it. I wish someone would drop a house on her, Wicked Witch of the South.

I'd watched as Jasper traveled with Peter and Charlotte. I'd gotten pretty good at reading his expressions, I thought, even from afar: I knew it bothered him being around their lovey-dovey ways, but he tried to not let it get to him too much. I watched him discover his enjoyment at the little diversions of life, and vowed to make sure I never let him forget how much he liked such things, movies and plays and concerts and gambling, even after we were together. Everyone needs a bit of fun now and then, or, should I say, _different _fun.

Gracious, there I went again.

My hotel room was dark and full of shadows. So empty.

But not for long.

I flipped on the lights and busied myself re-organizing everything, tidying a room that was already clean. Busywork. Then I sat in front of the window and stared out the glass over the sleeping city. I watched the moon rise and set, the stars wink into existence against the black sky and then fade away with the coming of the dawn. I watched the eastern sky turn from black to grey to pink as the sun began to rise, then watched the storm clouds begin to creep across the colors, obscuring them. It began to rain, a cold, steady downpour, and thunder rolled, interspersed with occasional lightning.

I looked at the clock, even though I knew what time it was, I'd been counting the seconds.

10:19 AM. April 23, 1948. It was time to get ready.

I got up and went through the process: a hot bath, slathering on fragrant body cream and perfume, putting on the new clothes, curling and styling my hair, even putting on a little makeup. I'd gotten good at using it, it made me able to blend in among the humans a bit better, and any girl knows that a little lipstick adds a whole lot.

I stood before the mirror and looked at myself for a long moment.

What would he see when he saw me for the first time? I tried to look with a stranger's eyes.

I saw a small woman looking back at me. She was very slim, but she had nice proportions to her tiny body; she was very pale, but didn't look ill. She had a little pixyish face, heart-shaped with a pointed chin, big amber eyes fringed with thick black lashes, and the kind of mouth one sees on a girl's porcelain dolls, full below and with a well-defined Cupid's bow up top. She had short, jet-black hair, curled very nicely, peeking out from under thae cute, floppy, crocheted beret I'd chosen.

I had finally selected a dark green gabardine dress with a pencil skirt, silk stockings, green leather pumps, and topped it all off with a plaid wool coat trimmed with white fur. The colors complimented me, and I looked elegant and…if I may say so…just a little bit sexy. I tugged on a pair of thin kid gloves to cover my cold hands.

I twirled and took my reflection in from every angle. Would he like me?

Of course he would like me, I'd seen that he would.

An insidious, self-doubting part of me whispered, Bbut the future could change, couldn't it? If someone made a spur-of-the-moment decision, things could be altered completely.

What if, instead of accepting my love, he was repulsed by it? What if, after all this time, he'd decided that love wasn't something he wanted, that it was too much of a hassle for someone like him, a loner, an island unto himself? What if his time with Maria had made him hate women, or view them all with suspicion, so he wouldn't give me a chance?

But what if he just plain didn't like me?

Maria had been an exotic, flamboyant beauty with a curvaceous figure and a sensual air so intense you could almost see it shimmering around her. Was that what he wanted? What attracted him?

I took a long, unsteady breath and closed my eyes. I replayed our meeting, as I'd seen it, over and over in my mind, letting the scenario run ahead. Searching for places where things could change, where the future could be altered by some decision. I played out every possible possibility I saw.

There were some that ended in him running away. He was as skittish as a foal; he'd been hurt so much before. His heart was even worse off than his body, scarred by all those battles: his heart was tattered in pieces by what had been done to him by others, and by the hurt from guilt heaped upon himself.

My eyes opened and I looked into the mirror again and saw that I was beautiful, and that he would love me.

He'd have to. Because we were meant to be.

But what if he didn't?

****

JPOV:

I wandered down into the city, drawn toward the more unseemly parts, the warehouses, the docks, the slums, where the humans would be of the sort which goes missing frequently without much notice. The rain came down in sheets, soaking me; I wasn't wearing a jacket, and I kept stopping to look up into the sodden sky, things which began to draw attention to me.

I was thirsty, so thirsty, and there were humans everywhere. I could smell their blood, hear the sound of it pulsing through their veins, hear their breath quicken if they chanced to lock eyes with me.

I shook my head in disgust at my foolishness: I should have waited until dark. I was too conspicuous, I drew their gaze without even trying, and they marked me as dangerous unconsciously.

For a while I walked along the river, watching the rain pit the surface of the gray water. I wondered where I was going, and why I wasn't turning around, doing the sensible thing and heading back out of town until dusk fell.

But it was like something was drawing me. Pulling me toward it.

After a while I found myself before a small, shabby building, advertising good human food at cheap prices in dirty neon. The smells of the cooking (repulsive) and the sounds of the humans inside drifted to me. I wrinkled my nose and went to turn away, to make myself leave the city, but something once again pulled me toward the diner. Feelings, emotions, reached out toward me and tugged me bodily toward them.

Anticipation. Warm acceptance. Fear of rejection. Wild excitement. And something else…something I'd felt before…With Peter and Charlotte, for each other?

_Love_.

Love??

I examined the emotion, I tasted it, I turned it over on my figurative tongue and explored it. I had never experienced these emotions before, I didn't know this person who was feeling them. But I did know two things.

One, the person who was feeling them was like me, a vampire. A female.

And two, she was feeling them for _me_.

I felt a surge of conflicting emotions rise up inside me. I was confused. I was a bit frightened and unnerved. I was also unbelievably curious. And I was also incredibly, inexplicably, drawn to the one inside that seedy dive. It was like gravity, like magnetism, like the tide. I had to go in.

I took a deep breath so I wouldn't have to breathe inside the building, so I wouldn't have to smell the blood and the nauseating human food. I pushed open the door, the sounds of the juke box and conversation washing over me like a dirty tide. I stepped inside.

What was I doing? Why was I there? Who was this person?

And then, I saw her.

***

APOV:

I sat at the crowded counter and looked down at my hands, folded on the pitted, greasy formica, counting the little speckles. I closed my eyes and concentrating, scanning the next few moments, my excitement building until it threatened to explode, I felt like at any moment I'd fly apart into a million frenzied pieces. Alice everywhere.

11:15 AM, April 23, 1948. The clock counted down to zero.

I heard the door open behind me, and his scent was carried to me on the wind, on the cold, wet breeze blowing in from outside.

Like sandalwood and seawater, and the scent of the sun on fresh green grass.

My breath caught in my throat, strangled me, as for a moment I lost myself in the overwhelming intensity of that scent, that scent I'd never smelled before but felt as familiar as my own left hand.

He was there. Behind me. Looking at me.

I steeled myself against the fear of rejection. I concentrated on my love for him, on my desire for him, on my acceptance of him. Those were the only things that mattered.

If he decided to leave anyway, that was his fault. His mistake. I love him anyway.

I turned around.

***

JPOV

The feelings struck me like a tidal wave, submerging me in them, washing me away. I'd never felt anything like it before in all my long life, not even from Peter and Charlotte.

I was drowning in it. The sea roared in my ears, the sea of those emotions, it wrapped itself around me and saturated me, filling me with peace and acceptance, with love and devotion I'd never earned, but had anyway.

Completely and totally, this person, this woman, was giving herself to me, sight unseen.

I watched the slight figure turn around on the stool, to face me.

She was tiny! Like a child, she had her feet pulled up onto the footrest of the stool, the ankles crossed, her small hands twisting anxiously in her lap.

Her face was tilted down demurely so the brim of the little green beret she wore shadowed her eyes, but I saw enough to know that I wanted to see more. Kissable lips, little pointed chin, graceful neck disappearing into the white fur collar of her plaid wool jacket. Shapely little body beneath the coat, tight dark green skirt sheathing her thighs, graceful calves in silk stockings, green leather pumps on her tiny feet.

And her scent! It came to me, wildflowers and rain and clean linen.

I heard her quick little gasp as she saw me looking at her, felt a surge of fear and doubt from her, but more than anything, that love, and even the amorphous warmth of physical desire, attraction.

My body, my soul, if I had one, responded emphatically.

I took a step forward.

She looked up at me and grinned triumphantly, as if she'd won a challenge against herself, and I saw that her eyes were a stunning shade of amber, glowing golden and warm. I was confused by that, I almost took a step backward, but I couldn't: the force of the attraction I felt _for_ her was equal to what I felt coming _from_ her, I couldn't retreat. I could only advance.

I took another step.

She hopped down from the stool with a simple grace and came toward me, every move lithe, she danced without realizing it. When she was only a few paces from me she pulled off the kid gloves she wore and held one hand out to me, simply, welcoming.

"You've kept me waiting a long time," she said softly, and her voice was sweet crystal bells.

***

APOV:

I looked up into his face, and it was everything I had dreamed of. More.

It didn't matter that he was dirty and unkempt. A bath and new clothes would remedy that. After all, he'd been wandering lonely as a cloud for years now, avoiding civilization. All that was over now, he'd never need to be alone or lonely again, even if he wandered. He was completely, impossibly beautiful. Perfect.

_Mine. God, I hope._

He took my hand, and it felt like everything fell into place with an almost audible click. His big hand fit my small one effortlessly, the fingers overlapping mine easily, strong yet gentle. I felt safe and protected in that grasp.

He ducked his head a little, a shy smile beginning at the corners of his delicious mouth. "I'm sorry, ma'am," he murmured. The sound of his voice, velvet over steel, smooth as warm honey with a trace of Texas, caused some kind of chemical reaction in my body, every square inch of me coming alive and clamoring to be touched by those fingers I held in my own. If my heart could beat it would have hammered itself out of my chest, I know.

I gathered my courage and I looked up to meet his eyes, so dark and full of hunger and pain, and so confused. I saw him staring at my eyes, I knew he was wondering about the color, wondering about everything. I had to reassure him, so he wouldn't turn and run away, vanish into the rain, gone from me forever.

"Don't worry." I squeezed his hand. "I'll explain everything, Jasper."

He blinked in shock at hearing his name on my lips. His mouth opened just a bit, ready to ask questions, but I placed one finger against it to silence him. "Shh."

The touch of his lips on my skin set me afire. I felt the flames licking along my skin, tracing a path directly south; I swallowed convulsively and bit my lip to try to control myself. "We should go," I finally managed, feeling the stares of the humans all around us.

I know we made a strange, striking pair standing there in the middle of that greasy spoon diner, him so tall and dangerous and ragged, me so small and elegant. It must have been obvious to anyone we were meeting for the first time. Could there ever have been such a strange meeting in the history of the world? Two lovers who have never met?

"Ma'am?" He looked confused again, and even a bit worried. His hand tightened around mine, as if he was afraid I'd let it go and run away.

What a glorious feeling, that triumph!

He _was_ mine!

I decided to play it as cool as possible, regardless of how much joy was exploding through me at knowing things were working out as I'd seen, as I'd hoped and dreamed.

"I'm Alice, silly. No more ma'ams." I squeezed his hand again, harder this time, emphasizing the bond, one hand in the other, forever. "Let's go back to my room. I'd rather not linger out in the rain. It'll ruin my shoes!"

His dark gaze shifted down to my feet, and I playfully kicked up one heel. Then I felt him tremble a little beneath my fingers, and I looked into his face, trying to see what was going on beneath that beautiful face. God above, how I longed to hear what he was thinking, to get past this awkwardness and just fling ourselves headlong into the forever that was waiting for us.

He smiled at me, a gentle, sweet smile that I felt all the way down to my toes.

"I'll go anywhere with you, Alice."

And I led him out of that dirty diner and out into the rain, and into that forever.

We went back to my hotel room, where I made him sit down and listen as I told him about myself. That was step one.

He watched me impassively as I told him everything. Well, almost everything. How from the moment I awakened I knew nothing but him, how his face had been the first thing I saw. My visions. The Cullens waiting for us both in the future. My life, in New York, Paris, traveling all over the country. My epiphany in Paris about hunting animals. Alistair, Mary, Charles…but I left out that part with meeting Margaret and her children, and the letter. I felt I should leave that for later on. I paced, I gestured wildly, I lost myself in the story, I talked so fast I was sure he got lost when my words ran together. But it felt good to let it all out, all at once, to a receptive audience.

Finally I ran out of words, and I rocked back on my heels to wait for his reaction, holding my breath in anticipation.

He sat silently for a moment, watching my face. I'm sure I'd looked like a crazy woman during my tale, pacing like a caged animal, ranting away. I was suddenly struck with a jolt of fear: was this is? Was this the moment he ran away? The moment I'd lose him, right after I'd found him?

I scanned the future for that brief moment of hesitation…and then he was there.

His hands cupped my face, and I was looking up into his dark, mysterious eyes. He was so tall, I was like a child before him, but the feelings I had for him weren't childlike in the least: I felt the pressure of his body against mine, his hands on my cheeks, the movement of his chest against mine as he breathed. Oh his scent, filling my lungs, the taste of it on my tongue…

"Don't worry, Alice." I closed my eyes to listen to the sound of his voice, the vibration of it through his body, transferred into mine, with stunning consequences. "I'm not scared away that easily."

I had to laugh, high-pitched and nervous, but it was still a laugh…and he joined in a little, watching me.

I had to break contact, it was beginning to overwhelm me. "Let's go out. Let me show you how I hunt. How _you_ can hunt, if you want."

His eyes widened with anticipation and pleasure, as he touched his throat unconsciously. I knew it must be burning terribly, poor thing. "Absolutely."

So I took his hand in mine and I led him outside, into the misting rain.

Fairmount Park along the Schuylkill River was perfect. Deserted and well-stocked with deer, it provided an excellent place for a lesson in vegetarian vampirism.

He watched me eagerly as I chased down the first deer, his nose wrinkling a bit at the smell of the animal blood, but when it was his turn, he took off without any hesitation, his excitement glowing on his face.

I watched in the flesh the replay of my visions from earlier, following along behind him. I felt as proud as I would imagine a mother might feel watching her child take his first steps, although my pride wasn't maternal in the least: to the contrary, as I watched him hunt, I felt my body responding to the sheer animal instinct of the way he moved, the leonine grace of his movements. He was a quick study, taking down his kill easily and humanely, but still enjoying the thrill of the hunt.

At one point he turned and saw me behind him, and there was a moment of fear for me as I saw his expression, temporarily caught up in the kill, wild and predatory, he'd forgotten who I was. I saw in that second the being that caused terror in his victims, in his enemies, the warrior who'd received all those scars and lived to bear them.

Then recognition flashed over his face and he straightened, looking a little shamefaced.

"Alice," he murmured, gazing at me intensely, his eyes slowly changing from black to a murky brownish-black. They would be golden before too long, a few months at the most. I froze at the sound of my name on his lips, it was so sweet, I felt my whole being throb in response to his voice. "Thank you."

His eyes slipped closed for a moment, as if he was listening to something, and he smiled, a strange little smile of pleasure, as if his thoughts were lovely, some wonderful memory being replayed. I couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't deny the pull toward him. I had to go closer.

Then his eyes opened again and saw me there, inches away from him, and he smiled more, a true grin, for the first time in years, I would imagine: I know I hadn't seen him smile in my visions since Los Angeles.

"I'm glad you're happy," I whispered up at him, stepping even closer, until our bodies touched again, just barely, but there was still an electric current leaping between us; I reached out and touched his hands with mine and sighed at the tingling of that touch. "I just…I just want to make you happy."

"You have. You do."

Two short words, but they were the most wonderful two words I'd heard yet in my existence. They weren't quite the three most important words that I knew would come soon, but they were good enough. I couldn't stop myself. I reached out and wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled myself up to plant my lips firmly on his.

Where had the tornado come from?

The world seemed to explode around us, our hands were everywhere all at once, our bodies pressed together as if we could meld them into one, my teeth clicking against his as we kissed with desperate passion. My thoughts disappeared in a blur of irrational, hot sensation, the only thing that mattered was the two of us in that moment.

He groaned and pulled me against him, tighter, tighter, and I was so glad I didn't have to breathe, because I wouldn't have been able to, even if I'd wanted to. But it felt so good to be crushed against him like that, to feel so very _wanted_…

But I had to stop it, or things would end up differently than I'd seen, and I very much liked that particular future. So I put my hands against his chest and gently pushed against him; gentleman he is, he pulled back, his eyes wild as he looked down at me, full of desire and concern.

"Did I do something wrong—"

"Shh." I silenced him with a tiny kiss, smiling. "Not right now. More, later."

"More?"

"Of which?" I giggled: more kissing or more hunting? I knew which one I wanted more of, but he needed more hunting.

"Both?" He glanced yearningly at the deer across the river, then back at my mouth, his gaze sweeping down my body, setting me afire with its path.

I took a second to clamp my self-control down, then I sprinted toward the river, toward the deer. "Come on, we'll catch the rest of the herd!"

He followed me with a happy growl.

After polishing off six deer, Jasper finally seemed sated, and he smiled at me blindingly. It made me a little sad to see how strange it felt for him to smile, to be happy: it was like the grin didn't quite fit his face, but he was trying. I imagined it was quite difficult for him, to allow himself to be happy, when he'd spent so many years alone and unhappy.

I took his hand and we went back to the hotel; by then, the light was fading as the sun began setting, and it was still raining a little. We were both quite soaked when we came in, laughing a little as we startled a chambermaid in the hallway when we burst out of the elevator.

I paused at the door to my room with the key in my hand. For some reason, even though he had been to my hotel room earlier in the day, I suddenly felt shy.

I knew what would happen soon, in that room, and it changed everything. That whirlwind kiss on the banks of the Schuylkill River had changed everything. Even though I had known it was all going to happen, it felt no less new and altogether frightening when it had.

Suddenly, I was a little nervous. Afraid.

Not frightened of him, of course not. I knew he'd never hurt me. But I was afraid of the hugeness of what was happening between us. For the first time in my life, knowing that something was going to happen didn't help me at all. I felt helpless , vulnerable. Small in the hands of a huge, overwhelming fate.

I sensed him standing behind me, not quite touching me, but I could feel him as keenly as I felt the fabric of my wet dress clinging to my body. I felt his breath cool on the back of my neck, smelled his intoxicating scent.

He inhaled, as if he was smelling me. I felt something building inside me, and strangely it was almost as if it were building up _behind_ me, coming from _him,_ this amazing rush of raw, hot, hunger. Hunger for each other. Like the thirst for blood, but more intense than that, in some ways.

"Is everything all right, Alice?"

The whisper of those words right beside my ear set off fireworks inside my body. I was a Roman candle. A pinwheel. A sparkler.

And right then I knew that everything was indeed all right.

I pushed the key into the lock and turned the knob. I took his hand and I led him into my room. And then I closed the door behind us.

***

JPOV:

As I stood behind her in front of the door to her hotel room, I felt the sudden surge of nervousness, of anxiety, from her. She stood completely still, key in her outstretched hand, as if she had been frozen. I could almost hear her thoughts, her emotions came to me so clearly.

She was nervous about being with me, anxious she might do something wrong, hurt my feelings, disappoint me.

_Disappoint me?_

I didn't really think it would be possible for her to disappoint me, and I doubted she'd ever do anything wrong. I already knew that this odd, wise, lovely little creature was the most perfect creature ever put on the earth.

And for some bizarre reason, God or Fate had decided to put her in my path. Maybe it was to keep me humble. Maybe it was to keep me out of too much trouble. Or…maybe, just maybe…it was just one of those gifts that isn't deserved, and as such must be treasured all the more.

In the course of a few short hours, I had gone from being completely and totally alone in the world to being part of something. Part of something pretty damn wonderful, actually.

I closed my eyes and leaned forward just a little, smelling her hair, the scents of her shampoo and perfume, and ever sweeter, the scent of _her_. My whole body vibrated with the awareness of how close she was. I wanted more than anything to grab her by the arms and push her against that hotel room door and kiss her over and over again, and more…

"Is everything all right, Alice?" I tried to keep my voice steady.

I felt the explosion inside her, a mirror to my own. We were feeding off of each other's desire: I felt it, she felt it, from each of us separately, but my ability was picking it up from us both, combining it, increasing it, and giving it back to each other multiplied.

Oh Lord above, this is going to be intense.

I had done nothing more than kiss this woman, and I had already felt more passion with and from her than I ever had from Maria. If I added up every ounce of desire I had ever felt for Maria and held it next to what I felt for Alice right then, there would be no comparison. A candle-flame beside a raging wildfire. No. A candle beside the _sun_.

And I felt dirty by even comparing them. There was no comparison.

Then, it was like someone flipped a switch and un-froze Alice. She reached out and unlocked the door. She took my hand again, and led me inside, and closed the door behind us.

***

APOV:

He was so nervous-looking, sweet thing. I knew he wasn't nervous in the same way I was, I knew he'd been with others before me, but he was nervous because _I_ was nervous. He was a gentleman. He didn't want to frighten or hurt me.

But when he looked at me, with those eyes, I wanted to melt into a puddle of goo at his feet. I had to fight to keep control of myself, keep things on track.

Jasper was looking at my eyes, and I knew why. He reached up to his own, the unspoken question clear. He wanted to know when his would begin turning.

"Give it a few months, they'll turn," I said, smiling.

He nodded, still staring at me. He was standing there by the door, looking as if he had no idea what to do with himself.

Poor thing. I looked him up and down briefly, objectively: he was a mess. Worn, dirty clothes, hair a mess and tangled with leaves and grass, blood and dirt beneath his nails and ingrained into the lines of his hands. Truly, a mess. Good thing I was prepared.

"You've been staying outside, right?" I tried to be gentle. I didn't want to embarrass him.

He ducked his head. I'd embarrassed him anyway. "How did you know?"

I grinned. How could I not know? Even if I didn't have my special sight, even a blind man could tell he'd been camping the hard way for months, maybe years. But I decided not to make it any worse. "Saw it." I tapped my temple and nodded wisely. "Hope you don't mind. I'm not trying to spy."

Jasper looked up at me and smiled back. "After taking me to drink those deer, you can see whatever you want of me!"

Oh goodness. That was the wrong thing for him to say to me, because I definitely wanted to see _everything_ of him. Every single part.

I had to look down, I knew I couldn't keep those thoughts and feelings off my face. I practically had to force my words out of my throat. "Well, since you haven't had a roof or plumbing in a while, I thought you might…well, I thought you might enjoy a bath."

He glanced toward the bathroom door and then down at himself. "I'd be obliged, Alice."

Oh my, did he just say "obliged?" What was this, were we still in the 1800's? I had to giggle. "Obliged?"

He chuckled, seeming a bit shamefaced. "Grateful, maybe?"

I nodded. "Yes, you should go with grateful." Then I went to the bathroom and opened the door for him. "Here you go, Jasper. Enjoy."

He took a deep breath, as if he were preparing for battle, and went into the bathroom. As the door closed behind him, I collapsed into the chair by the bed, my legs no longer capable of supporting me.

I listened as he filled the tub with water and heard the splashing and an occasional sigh of pleasure. A good bath is always a nice thing, when it's been a while. When I had quit my wandering I'd taken a three-hour bath, complete with bath salts and bubbles. Since our kind don't sweat, we don't get dirty like humans do…but still, it's always lovely to take a good soak in a warm tub.

I let my mind wander a little as I waited for him to finish. I'd left a bathrobe for him, but hadn't laid out any clothes…we weren't going to need them…I hoped.

Once again, I felt the anxiety begin to creep in, jangling my already jumpy nerves. From the time he left the bathroom, there were a few paths the future could take. He could get all stiff with honor and by a gentleman and insist on leaving so he didn't "take advantage" of me. We could sit and talk all night long, doing nothing more than holding hands. Or, he could stay…and we'd do that same talking in the morning.

Do you have to ask which one I wanted to happen?

I jumped up, suddenly remembering that I needed to change out of my wet clothes as well, before he came out. I dashed about, stripping off my dress and underthings and tossing new ones on as fast as I could, shrugging into a robe and tying it at my waist. I glanced at myself in the mirror: my hair was a mess. I combed through it with my fingers until it was back in some semblance of order, then scrubbed the lipstick and rouge off with the back of my hand. I didn't need them anymore, to make me look more human. My man was here now, and he was just like me, no reason to hide it from him.

The silence in the bathroom alerted me. "Jasper?"

A pause. "Uh…yes?"

I smiled to myself, seeing his surprised expression in my mind's eye. "There's an extra bathrobe on the countertop."

I sat up in the chair and crossed my legs. Uncrossed them and crossed them again the other way. Closed my eyes and focused, scanning the next few minutes for pitfalls.

I heard the door open, and the soft padding of his footsteps on the lush pile of the carpet. I smiled and opened my eyes to see him.

Oh, my, what a difference a bath made!

His hair was no longer dirty and tangled, and now it was its true color, a deep burnished gold, almost the color of my eyes. He wore it long, hanging almost to his shoulders in waves. His face, that collection of perfect planes and angles, shone like the noonday sun as he smiled shyly at me. He seemed self-conscious in the robe, his hands hovering at the knotted sash, as if he were afraid it might come off accidentally (I wished!). I knew he was hovering on the edge of deciding to be "honorable" and leave, or giving in to what we were both feeling. I knew I had to do something.

So I jumped up and ran to him, and I reached up to kiss him. Gently this time, not too much to scare him, just something to show him I was there, and I loved him, and I didn't want him to go.

Oh, I don't know if I could ever give him a quick, casual kiss. It was always like being struck by lightning. It still is.

I couldn't breathe for a moment, I felt him vibrate beneath my lips, and a surge of desire punched through me, shredding my resolve not to scare him. I pulled back to prepare to twine myself around him, and then, he stepped back, against the bathroom door, as if frightened.

My guts clenched in disappointment. Had I done the wrong thing?

"Did I do something wrong?" I whispered, hardly able to get the words out, dreading the answer.

Jasper took a long, shuddering breath and shook his head emphatically. "No. The—the opposite, actually." Then he did something truly amazing, something I had never imagined possible. "Here. Let me show you how right you were."

Love. Desire. Wonder. The sensations washed over me, but they weren't _mine_, they seemed to be coming…from _outside_?

He looked at me expectantly, as if waiting for something. A reaction, maybe.

Then it clicked: he had done it. Those feelings had been coming from _him_.

I remembered how I had felt things since we'd been together, and I had assumed it was me. But sometimes, it had been strangely exterior, as if those feelings were being poured _onto_ me, rather than pouring _out_ of me.

We he feeling those things? Was I feeling his love for me? His _want_ for me?

"How do you do that?" I whispered, staring up into his eyes in wonder.

"I don't exactly know. I've always been able to do it." He chuckled. "You didn't already see that about me?"

I blinked in surprise, letting myself explore my memories, explore those feelings, both mine and his, now that I knew the difference between them. "I saw how you would make me feel, but I didn't know you would actually be _making_ me feel it…" I shook my head in frustration, not knowing how to say what I wanted to say. "I don't know if I'm making any sense."

He put his hands on my shoulders and pulled me just a bit closer, and it suddenly became difficult for me to think coherently. All I could concentrate on were his lips, so close to mine, his eyes holding mine hypnotically.

"It's not just me _making_ you feel this way, Alice. I felt your own emotions quite clearly from the beginning."

Oh. My. _God._

He _knew_? He had felt what I was feeling for him? From the beginning?

I couldn't hide behind cute coyness. I couldn't play the wise ingénue with him. He'd seen through it, felt what was beneath the exterior of me. I was laid completely bare, my secrets, my very heart, open for him to see. I couldn't hide it from him. He already knew I loved him. Of course I was going to tell him, of course I wasn't ashamed of loving him…But I'd wanted to do it in my own time, in my own way, reserving just a little bit of myself, in case something went wrong.

But that wasn't possible anymore.

"I can feel the emotions of others as well." He sighed and his hands fell from my shoulders. "I should have said something."

I exhaled. "I didn't guess any of this… I didn't know." For the first time in my life, since I had awakened from that burning darkness, I felt completely lost. I ran back through my filed-away memories of the visions I'd had of him, and suddenly so many things began to make more sense, in the light of this new revelation.

What an odd pair we made. An empath and a seer.

"Don't worry, Alice. It's ok. It's better than that. It's not just you. I l…"

_What!_

I felt his feelings retreat, as if he were gathering them up into a bottle to cork away. He was nervous, afraid I might reject him? That he'd said too much, too soon?

Whatever. As if we could ever hide from each other, ever again.

"Really?" Had he really been about to say he loved me?

_Please, please, please, please…_

Jasper looked into my eyes and he nodded. I felt him make the decision, and suddenly, all the other paths in the future disappeared, except for one.

"Yes," he whispered, and he bent his head, his lips centimeters from mine, his breath on my face, cool and sweet. "Yes, Alice."

I couldn't hold back anymore. I jumped up and wrapped my arms around his neck, my legs around his waist, hooking my ankles together so that I completely encircled him with my body, daring him to try to push me away. But he didn't try. Quite the opposite. He put his arms around me, pressing my head into his chest, so I could hear the contented purring growl growing deep inside him. The other hand pushed against the small of my back, as if he were trying to make me part of him. And then he uncorked the bottle, and his love washed over me like a warm wave, and it mingled with mine, stronger and stronger, until I could barely breathe with the intensity.

"It's done, Alice. You're mine now." His voice rumbled against my ear, the words the sweetest I'd ever heard in my life. "You can leave me if you wish; I won't force myself on you. But you will always be mine. There will never be another for me."

What?

I pulled back from him for just a moment, taking his face between my palms and making him look into my eyes. "No! Don't leave. Stay with me, please. I've waited so long for you. Please don't go!" I couldn't lose him. I wouldn't. I'd never let him go.

Then he was kissing me, and my eyes rolled back into my head as I completely lost any ability or inclination to control myself.

And the tornado seemed to have touched down again.

***

JPOV:

I was never lonely. Ever again.

I held my other half in my arms and I loved her, and she loved me, body, mind, and soul.

There was no hole inside me anymore, the emptiness I had felt before was gone, the ragged edges of my soul smooth and healed up as if they'd never been anything but sound.

I'd finally found love, or she found me, and that was it. Whether I deserved it or not, whether I deserved _her_ or not, it was done.

We were complete.


	12. Chapter 12: The Path to the Altar

**Chapter 12: Path to the Altar**

**APOV:**

"You know what this means, right?"

We'd been lying in bed, drowsy and dreamy, just enjoying the sensation of skin on skin, the rhythm of each other's breathing, in a pleasantly intimate silence that had lasted a few hours. The minutes flew by unchecked and uncared for.

At his words, my eyes snapped open in shock and I stared up at the ceiling, afraid to look at him. I knew what he was getting ready to ask me: of course I did. I was the seer, remember?

But what shocked me was that the idea and decision had just suddenly popped into his mind, spontaneous and unplanned, and the ramifications of that decision had just as suddenly appeared, a myriad of paths to possibly follow. I hadn't seen it coming until a second before he spoke. He'd leaned over my shoulder (I was lying on my side, him curled around me) and his voice was like deep, velvety music as he breathed those words into my ear. The vibration of his speech and the whisper of his breath against my skin made me shudder.

I knew what he was going to say, although only I only knew a split second before he said it. But I had to go along. It was part of the game we were inventing.

"No, I don't know what this means. I don't even know what 'this' is," I said playfully, rolling over and plopping down onto his chest. His deliciously naked chest. I pillowed my chin on my forearms and smiled at him. We hadn't left the room in five days. I was starting to get thirsty, and I know he was, too, but neither of us was willing to get dressed yet. The world outside no longer seemed real. "Why don't you tell me?"

He rolled his eyes and pinched the tip of my nose, which was ridiculously sweet and impossibly sexy. Really, who can be sexy pinching someone's nose? Jasper can. That's who.

"You know, Alice, sometimes I think that loving someone with that particular gift is going to take all the fun out of romance. You knew what I was going to say. You knew it before _I_ did, most likely." He tried to sound a bit put-upon, but I knew it was an act; I could feel it radiating out from him, like waves of heat from a furnace: he was loving me, playing with me, and it felt wonderful.

I stuck my lower lip out, pouting prettily, I hoped. "I'm no fun?" I asked plaintively, batting my eyelashes. I was rewarded when he visibly melted at the expression, his eyes softening, his arms tightening around me. He could be so easy to manipulate sometimes…but wait, he knew what I was feeling…so perhaps he was just being a gentleman and _letting_ me manipulate him?

The relationship between two people who are gifted the way that we are is bound to be fraught with pitfalls, obstacles, and awkward situations. There's no privacy when one lover can feel what the other lover is feeling and can also make them feel what they're feeling, or what they _want them_ to feel; there's no surprise or much mystery when the other lover can see what's coming.

But we were trying. And we were getting it very right, I think.

"Anyway," he sighed, running his fingers idly through my hair, which I know needed a good brushing, but he didn't care. "Anyway, I know you already know what I want to do, but I still want to say it."

I waited, wide-eyed and expectant. I batted my eyelashes again for effect.

"I think we need to get married."

OK, the fireworks were back. They were colossal Fourth-of-July-in-New-York explosions, not some little firecrackers you can buy from a roadside stand and set off in your backyard. So what if I knew it was coming; hearing the words spoken aloud made them _real_.

It took a few minutes for him to calm me down. Well, sorry, but a girl can get excited at the prospect of marrying her One True Love, can't she?

I'd never been the kind of girl to dream about her wedding. I had a pretty good idea what the wedding would be like; I had for a long time, of course. But I wasn't a frilly girl, the kind who dreams of weddings, as I knew many human girls do, based on my observations and reading…and movies, of course.

Still, marrying Jasper and making it "official" was appealing…ok, more than appealing. Downright exhilarating, in a way I'd never expected. But it wasn't _necessary_, to get married, and I had to let him know that. I didn't want him to think he had to marry me out of some silly sense of obligation brought on because he'd deflowered me. I opened my mouth to try to explain my thoughts.

"Seriously, Alice. I mean it." He stared into my eyes intently, and did his best to make me _feel_ just how serious he was.

It didn't work, at least not right away. I giggled. He was just so very earnest!

"I know you do. But why? Not that I'm complaining or anything…but it's not as if we _have_ to do it or anything. We're not human, after all." I sobered, giving in to his urging, and reached up to touch his face, allowing my love for him to flow into him, letting him feel intimately, intensely, how I felt for him. It wasn't funny anymore.

"I'm yours without a ring, without the vows. I have been since I first opened my eyes. Before I even knew my own name, I was yours, Jasper Whitlock."

His arms, which had been loosely wound around my waist as I lay halfway across him, crushed me against him, and I felt his own feelings and mine, mingling together, a whirlwind, hot and passionate. "God, Alice, I don't know why I have you, I know I don't deserve you…"

"Shut up." I silenced him with a kiss. Not a lighthearted little peck, not a romantic press of the lips, but a _real_ kiss, the kind that leaves you panting and weak at the knees. Thank goodness we were already in bed. His hands gripped my waist like iron claws, but it didn't hurt, it felt good, as he pulled me against him so tightly it was hard to tell where I ended and he began…

And I suppose it really didn't matter. We were one. Finally.

***

**JPOV:**

I was daydreaming, something I found much easier to do than ever before.

Alice lay beside me on her side, a creamy vanilla swirl in the chocolate-colored sheets, my arm across her ribs. I could feel her contentment, her happiness, her satisfaction, like you can feel the vibration of a pleased cat's purr when you stroke it. It was amazing, the sense of completion that blanketed us, so unconscious and yet so real I could almost touch it. I had never been so peaceful in my entire life.

I thought about the past few days, and I had to work to keep myself from letting my body take over immediately to reenact some of the more…titillating…moments. I concentrated on the image of her face, her smile, the feather-light touch of her fingers, the total acceptance that emanated from her. She never doubted me for a moment, even when she'd seen my scars.

She'd known they were there, of course. But seeing them in her head and seeing them before her, touching them, kissing them…Well, that is a different matter. She knew how they'd gotten there. She'd probably seen many of my battles. She knew I was deadly, that I was a killer, a murderer, even. But it hadn't mattered. She had never feared me: I knew that. I'd felt what she _had_ feared: she'd feared losing me, frightening me away.

This was something new, something different and strange, but something really wonderful. Acceptance.

Ever since I'd become a vampire, I'd never felt acceptance, not from others, not from myself. Maria was constantly trying to change me, to make me more her creature, conform me to what she thought a vampire should be, to what she thought a man should be. The others around me only accepted me as far as they feared or respected me, and that isn't a comfort. And of course, accepting myself: that was impossible.

After all, who would or could accept a bloodthirsty, manipulative, selfish monster like I was?

I suppose Alice could.

I kept asking myself: how could she, someone who was so very pure and sure, someone so gifted and strong, how could she love a monster like me? This was a woman who had awakened completely ignorant of who and what she was, and had civilized and educated herself. She had made her path from her own crossroads, made the right decisions on her long road alone, learned the right lessons. Her sight was a help, of course, but I knew that it was more than that.

She was just a _good person_. A very special, true person.

And she loved me.

Loved _me_.

I thought about the fact that she'd watched me since she first became self-aware, how she'd been with me, or should I say, a few steps ahead of me, for so many years. Holding a candle for me, lighting my way all that time, even though I never knew it. Seeing the good and the bad, the self-hatred and guilt and recriminations for all the murders and failures of self-control.

_She'd seen me with Maria_.

Oh, Lord above, she'd seen me with Maria. And the others I'd let myself be diverted by momentarily along the way, ones who scarcely needed mentioning.

I studied the back of her head with its deliciously messy hair, the smooth curve of her neck as it became her shoulder, the perfect line of her spine until it vanished beneath the sheets. She was so beautiful. I resisted the urge to crush her against me in reaction to the sudden spasm of desire I felt; she twitched under my arm with a little chuckle, and I knew she'd felt it from me anyway.

Then my masochistic mind thrust Maria's face before my eyes again, and my passion dwindled completely, replaced by dread and disgust. I allowed myself to briefly revisit those long, angry, empty years I'd passed in Maria's service. I say 'service' because that is what it really was: service to all her whims, whether they were centered in the bedroom or on the battlefield. I immediately felt dirty and shoved the images away, because to think about _her_ while I held Alice in my arms seemed sacrilegious.

All that time, wasted, thrown away. All that effort and sacrifice and pain, poured down an endless drain. What had it been worth? What had 80 years of my life meant, besides all these scars and all these horrible memories?

They gave me something to be thankful for: I would never be that man again, not while I held this woman in my arms. I wouldn't allow myself to be. I had to be worthy of her. Those experiences had taught me harsh lessons about everything I _didn't_ want to be or do.

What must I do to brand this relationship, indelibly, forever, as being different? To make it official? Mark it as being permanent and binding?

_I should marry her._

I'd never given more than a moment's thought to marriage, ever, really. As a boy I'd known, cerebrally, that I'd eventually grow up and get married. That's just what adults did, I thought, but it wasn't something I thought about happily or with anticipation. As a young man I'd known that it was something I should do once the war was over, make my mother and father happy by meeting a nice girl and settling down, having grandchildren for them. Dying when I was old and grey and being buried in the local cemetery alongside them. But that had all changed, so suddenly and so strangely.

Once I'd become immortal, I'd been with Maria…and she wasn't exactly the marrying type. And since leaving her, I never considered visiting my monstrous self on any woman for more than a short time. I'd never really thought I'd find something like what Peter and Charlotte had, a solid and loving relationship, though I wanted it. But even they didn't consider getting married. They were beyond mortal types of attachments, I'd supposed.

But this…this was different. What I felt for Alice, and what she felt for me, even after this short period of time together. This didn't seem like a trivial kind of thing; it wouldn't just be a piece of paper to us, if we married. We'd do it and we'd be each other's forever, and forever would be a long time for us. Would she want to do that? For a moment, a twinge of doubt sickened me.

No. Alice wanted me, and she wanted me forever, just as I wanted her. I could feel it from her: forever. Without a doubt.

So perhaps, I should put a ring on her finger. I should stand before God and man and declare that I, Jasper Whitlock, was committing to this woman. Committing to love her, protect and care for her, adore and worship her in every way, forever.

She had waited for me. She'd never allowed herself to be tempted by another man, and I'm sure that, given vampire nature and her beauty and charm, there had been someone, somewhere, that would have happily shared their bed with her. Probably many men had wanted to. That was important too: I had been brought up to be honorable. Of course, the women I'd had before hadn't been interested in honor of that kind, especially not Maria. But Alice was different. She should be honored. Treated differently than them.

I made up my mind immediately. It needed to be done.

If she'd have me.

Of course she would. _Why_? I had no idea. But she would.

***

**APOV:**

We made love off and on for another day, after he proposed to me. Well, I supposed 'proposed' isn't quite right…he proposed _proposing_, I guess would be closer. I knew what he was planning, but I didn't want to spoil his fun at planning by saying anything. He knew I knew, and I knew he knew _I_ knew…Oh this gets complicated! But regardless: I knew it was coming, and I let it come, because the journey to the destination is most of the fun.

Finally, our thirst became so intense that we had to drag ourselves away, out of that room, and into the brilliant May sunshine. It was the first day of May, Mayday, Beltane. The day of beginnings and fertility and growth and passion. A perfect day.

We hunted along the banks of the Schuylkill River, and once again I had to stand back a bit and watch, admiring, as my man displayed what a hunter he is. We were seriously depleting the stock of deer in Fairmount Park, I noticed absently. We needed to find another hunting spot. We should be moving along soon, anyway.

Then coldness gripped me, and I saw something that terrified me.

"Oh!"

In an instant, Jasper was there. Such a gentleman. "What is it?" he asked, his eyes wide and alert as he looked around, starting to slouch into a defensive crouch before me, searching for whatever threat had frightened me.

I took a deep breath. I shouldn't tell him yet. It would spoil everything, absolutely everything. Mostly for him.

"Nothing, sweetheart." I grinned at him and did my best to put my premonition away, stuffing it deep down inside. All I had to do, really, was look into his eyes, and I got lost in them, and the bad things went bye-bye with an amazing quickness. "I just remembered that you need to go and have a picture taken for your passport. So we can get married."

His face brightened. "I guess you're right," he murmured, and leaned in to kiss me: salty blood and tangy-sweet venom, always a delicious combination for any vampire. We smiled at each other. "Let's hurry up, then, and get into town."

It was so unbelievably sweet, how eager he was to get married.

Married! _Me_!

Oh goodness, I needed a dress. And shoes. And a hat. And some jewelry, maybe some pearls…

I got lost in thoughts of creamy cashmere collars and pillbox hats with lacy little veils. How long should the skirt be? What kind of cut, A-line, pencil, princess? Heels or flats? Flowers? Should I carry a purse, or a bouquet? Gloves? And for Jasper, a tuxedo or a suit? Or just a nice jacket-shirt-pants combination? What color? Blue would become him beautifully. A boutonniere? And shoes…

Satisfied I was truly all right, seeing me faraway in my plans, Jasper grinned and returned to his hunting. He was trying to glut himself: he wanted his eyes to change as soon as possible, and also to make it easier for him to be around humans. He knew I had chosen to be among them, and had committed to my vision as his own, which was so gratifying. I knew it wasn't going to be easy for him, I knew he'd have many slipups, for which he'd flog himself endlessly…but it was part of his nature.

He and Edward are much alike in that: they both castigate themselves far too much, although truly Edward is much, much worse. Jasper understands his nature as a predator but decided to follow my ways out of love for me, and to help him alleviate the guilt that his good conscience produces when he causes harm. He's such an emotional creature, which is strange for a man. I know he felt every moment of agony and fear from his human victims, and it bothered him terribly. It would bother anyone with half a conscience, but for someone like Jasper, with his extra senses, it was worse.

But Edward…Oh my brother. My poor brother I hadn't met then, I had already seen enough of him by that point that I felt I knew him pretty well. When I did actually meet him and spend time with him, I realized how right I'd been, and more. He takes self-hatred to new heights…or should I say new _lows_. I never met anyone more willing and almost _eager_ to heap guilt upon themselves, to seemingly revel in pain at times. He reminded me of those religious fanatics, flagellants, who would flog themselves with whips or lash themselves with switches to punish their flesh's sinful nature, seeking God's approval. Somehow, I don't think, if there is a God, that He would really see such behavior as anything good.

And then there's me. I'm somewhat different. I'm much simpler, actually. I don't like violence, really. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy a good fight. That's fun. And the thrill of the hunt is wonderfully exciting, especially when you can get a good-sized predator who fights back a bit. But killing? No, no. Especially not humans. They're too close to me, and seeing their futures extinguished like a snuffed candle because of me…it's agonizing. So I was happy when I realized I could change my diet, and be a different kind of predator. It's become easier with time, but never will be _easy_.

I took down another deer, but my mind wasn't on the hunt, although the blood was soothing to the ragged thirst that had almost overwhelmed me. I don't know how Jasper did it, abstaining for all those days we'd been holed up in the hotel: I knew he was less controlled than I was, and we'd used up a lot of…mmmm…energy.

I had to keep my mind occupied and not try to think about the awful thing I'd seen earlier, or it would make my mood crumble, and then Jasper would realize what was going on. So I did my best to distract myself with thoughts of him, of the mechanics and details of the wedding, what we would do afterwards…where we would go after Philadelphia. I had some ideas. We had two years together as a honeymoon, before we were scheduled to meet the Cullens, and I wanted to enjoy them to the fullest.

But first, we had some things to take care of.

"Jasper, let's get back to the hotel and get ready. We need to get to City Hall before it closes in a few hours!"

Then, as now, before you could formally get married you had to go and apply for a marriage license, and in order to do that, you had to have identification. So Jasper needed his passport ready for that. Once we had the license, we'd have ten days to get it validated, by a judge or justice of the peace or religious official. I knew what was coming, and I knew what to do, I just had to let him follow his heart and it would all fall into place.

"All right, baby," he whispered into my ear, his lips brushing against my skin like butterfly wings. Sneaky vampire. I'd been so preoccupied by my thoughts I hadn't paid attention to his stealthy approach. His arms snaked around my waist and lifted me off my feet, his mouth at my neck, his teeth on my skin…

"Goodness!" I gasped, "Stop that, or we'll never get there in time!"

Jasper chuckled and set me down, taking my hand and turning me around to face him. "My little taskmistress." He touched the tip of my nose with his lips. "Let's go."

We went back to the hotel and showered and changed. Jasper grinned tolerantly when I showed him the pile of clothes I'd purchased for him, shaking his head in good-natured disgust.

"How did you even know my sizes?" he asked, holding up a pair of pants and making a face. Of course they'd fit.

"I have an excellent eye for clothes, I will have you know, Jasper Whitlock."

He cocked an eyebrow at me. "I'll say. The all-seeing eye!"

It was my turn to shake my head. "No, I wish I could see everything sometimes. It changes so often. It's frustrating." I thought for a moment. "Then again, sometimes I wish I didn't see everything. It does take a lot of the fun out of romance, you know?"

He sighed and went toward the bathroom to change. That amused me: it wasn't as if we hadn't seen all there was to see of each other by that point, but he still clung to his old-fashioned modesty. "I know. But I keep hoping I'll surprise you. Someday, maybe," he tossed over his shoulder as he gently closed the door behind him.

I got dressed and sat down to wait for him. I was going through a green phase: green silk dress and hat, green pumps, white cardigan. When he emerged in his dark charcoal slacks and deep blue shirt, the grey tweed blazer slung over his shoulder, I smiled at the sight of him: so handsome and well-groomed. But I loved him no more for seeing him nicely dressed than I had when I'd first laid actual eyes on him, dirty and bedraggled.

Jasper grinned at me. "Do I clean up well?" He did a little pivot, as if showing off. "Is it to your liking?"

I laughed. "Yes, you clean up well. And everything is to my liking. Every little thing."

He held out his hand to me. "So, then. Let's go get a marriage license, shall we?"

I reached out and took his hand and let him pull me up out of the chair and into his arms. "Amen."

He brushed his lips against mine. "You sure about this?"

I nodded, not having words to express what I was thinking or feeling. I was in turmoil, and I knew he was picking it up from me with his extra sense. But it was all good turmoil: so much good, it was _too_ much, almost.

As we held each other for that long moment, I got another flash, like the one in the park earlier, but much, much clearer.

Decisions were being made, things were in motion. Things that would hurt him, hurt me. Hurt _us_. In one second the future went from one shining path to several, many dark and sad. Conflict. Arguments. Pain.

So, decisions were being made, were they? Decisions were being made by someone else and it was influencing my future, my happiness, but even worse, they were influencing _our_ happiness and future.

And for the first time, I decided to be truly proactive, not reactive. It set a precedent. I started fighting for those I loved, fighting to keep certain futures from happening.

There was no way I was going to let anyone hurt us, if I had a say in it. Ever.

***

**JPOV:**

I held Alice against me and I felt her mood change. First she'd been happy and eager, then, something had happened: fear, anxiety, anger, resolve, they all rippled through her in waves. Her body stiffened a little against me, but I knew it wasn't because of me, she was reacting to whatever was going on in her head.

"What is it?" I asked her quietly, in her ear, but not wanting to arouse her again. I was trying to be calm and reassuring. I wanted her to trust me with whatever she was thinking. She had to have seen something that disturbed her.

Alice lifted her head from my chest and looked up at me with a smile. "Nothing! I'm just…just thinking about the whole license thing. You know, making sure I have it all right, so we don't have any problems."

Her first lie.

I was crushed at being lied to, but I didn't let it show on my face; I clamped down tightly on my own emotions, plugging up the bottle and shoving it away, so I could stay calm.

Why did she lie to me? What had I done to make her want to keep something from me, something that obviously upset her? She had to know I realized something was wrong. Why couldn't she share it with me? I didn't know much about relationships, but I knew this much: without trust, there is nothing. Love thrives on honesty, like a plant needs sunlight and water. Honesty implies trust, trust implies faith in the other.

Did she not trust me?

But I had to follow through with it. Maybe she had a reason.

God, I hoped it was a good reason. I despised being lied to. Maria had done it too often.

"Oh, all right. Do you have everything we'll need?" I finally asked.

She pulled gently away from me and flitted to the bedside table, where there was a fat manila envelope waiting in a drawer. "Of course. It's all here. Let's go take a picture, right?"

I felt her false bravado, her effort at putting on an untroubled and cheerful demeanor. I could feel how inside she was in terrible pain, even though her lovely little pixie face showed nothing of it.

My brave girl, what was she hiding from me? What was so bad she couldn't tell me?

For a moment I was angry, really angry. I hadn't lied to her. I hadn't done anything worthy of losing her trust. She was the one with the sight, she knew what was coming, she knew something was going on and wouldn't give me the courtesy of a warning?

No! I couldn't think like that. She'd waited for me for almost thirty years, dedicating herself to me, even though we'd never met. I had to trust her. I had to give her the benefit of the doubt.

"All right, Alice. Let's go."

So we went out, hand in hand. The morning's bright sunshine had faded, the sky darkened by clouds, for which I was thankful: no having to keep to the shadows. We walked down the street as easily as any man and his sweetheart did, although I kept the brim of my hat pulled down enough so that my eyes weren't easily visible. Lucky Alice and her lovely golden eyes, she could hold her head high.

Soon enough, Jasper, I told myself. Soon enough.

It was strange submitting myself to being posed by the human photographer at the little studio she took me to; I felt myself grow tense when he touched my shoulder, and had to force myself to relax at a warning glance from Alice. Then the flash went off, the man handed Alice the little package of prints, and we were away. If the photographer had noticed my eyes, he hadn't given any sign, for which I was thankful.

We ducked into the library, where Alice dragged me to a secluded table on the lower floor, among the stacks of old books, where she produced the tools of her forger's trade from her demure little purse, the glue and straight-edge razors, the rubber stamps and laminating film. Five minutes later, she'd produced a perfectly viable passport, having affixed my photo to the little booklet she'd prepared before she met me. She handed it to me with a nervous little laugh.

"Here you are, Monsieur Whitlock!"

I glanced down at the small rectangular booklet, and was startled when I realized the embossed silver writing in the leather cover was French.

"I'm…I'm _French_?" I tried very hard to keep the disapproval out of my voice. "Who in the world would ever believe I'm French? I don't even speak the language!"

Alice rolled her eyes. "I didn't think so…" she sighed. "I had to work with what I had. The clerk at the Paris vital records office was a client of mine. She loved my designs. She's the one who did my documents for me, and she did yours as a favor."

I shook my head; I didn't want her to think I was ungrateful. "No, sweetheart, I'm not complaining. Thank you. It's just that I don't know if I can fake a French accent!"

"Oh!" she giggled. "Don't worry, just say you've been here since you were a child. You were raised in Texas by family after your American mother and father died in Paris. Car accident. Awful thing."

I stared down at my passport, pensive. "I don't know how my real parents died. Or my sister, for that matter."

I knew I had taken too long to look for my family. I should have gone long before I did. I had left Maria so many times to go out on recruiting runs, I could have easily gone by my family's farm, to see how they were. But I hadn't. I'd avoided it, actually, not wanting to bring up my old life. Especially Ginny. I didn't want to think about her. I believed she went to her grave angry at me. I wished I knew where she was buried, so I could at least put some flowers on her grave, and beg the wind to tell her that I was sorry, wherever she was.

Alice grabbed my hands and pulled them to her, clutching them between hers. "What is it? What are you thinking?" she whispered. "Why are you so sad?"

For just a moment, my spiteful and selfish side ruled: why tell her anything, when she's hiding something from you? Why be truthful when she's lied?

But I couldn't do it.

"My family. I was thinking of them. Especially my sister."

She blinked, and for a moment her amber eyes were far away, deep and vast like golden oceans, not seeing me at all. Then she blinked again and she was with me again. "Let's talk about that later, in the room, all right? I have something important to tell you, about your family. But it needs to wait." She clutched my fingers tightly, as if begging me. "Please. Can you trust me? To wait?"

Again, there was a war inside me. Trust her after she'd lied earlier, and was still lying with her silence about it? But how could I _not_ trust her, after everything she'd done for me, for everything she'd endured?

"All right. Later."

She relaxed, her head slumping down to touch my chest, her lips touching my hands as she held them between hers. "Thank you," she whispered.

What is she hiding?

"All right then. Let's go. Only half an hour 'til City Hall closes." Alice's voice was brisk and businesslike. She gathered her things up and stuffed them away, then took my hand.

***

**APOV:**

The marriage license process was painless and quick. Within ten minutes of entering the clerk's office, we exited with the license in our hands, poring over the typed words together. We stood outside City Hall and stared down at it together in the darkening twilight.

It seemed so commonplace. A piece of paper, lines and blanks and scrollwork lettering. There were our names and the false dates of birth, the false names of our parents, typed into the spaces designated. There was the blank area where the officiant would certify that he had performed the actual wedding, and the place for him to sign and date it. How strange. So very simple. This was it? This was something important? This meant something?

Oh, yes, it did.

I looked up at him with a heart full of dread. The flashes had been coming more and more frequently, and I had been dealing with them the best I could, thinking furiously about what I could do to intercept things. I didn't know how effective I would be. But I had to try.

Suddenly, it was as if someone had opened a door for me, making a way where there hadn't been one before. I knew what I had to do.

"Jasper…why don't you go back to the hotel with this?" I pressed the certificate into his hands carefully. "I have to go shopping. I'm sure you don't want to go along."

I knew my voice sounded false and shrill. I looked up into his face, his beautiful face, and I lied to him, the second time in hours. I thought that he knew I was lying: I saw it in his eyes, I could feel it. I had hurt him, something I had never, ever wanted to do. But, oh, if he knew what every false word cost me. I felt as if a piece of my soul was being shaved away. But I still painted a smile onto my face and tried to sell it to him, even though I believed, deep down, that he knew something was terribly wrong.

He looked down at me with those wild, wise eyes, his mouth set in a frown. He pulled me against him, not caring that the humans who were passing by saw or thought. Jasper Whitlock gazed down into my eyes fiercely, and I wanted him to push me up against the brick wall of the building and take me right then and there, shameless hussy I'd become.

"Are you sure? You want…you want to be a-_alone_?"

The stammer in his voice devastated me. I felt it coming out of him in waves, his sadness, his fear, his love. He was trusting me. He knew I was lying. He _knew_.

I nodded, even though it was almost impossible. "Yes. Alone."

Jasper took a long, deep breath and exhaled it slowly. He closed his eyes and pulled me against him again, but there was no desire or urgency in his embrace. As I closed my eyes and rested my forehead against his chest I felt only love and acceptance. "All right then, Alice. You go on."

He pushed me away, and the parting hurt. In every way, it hurt. My very soul ached.

"Go on then, and do what you have to do. I'll be waiting."

He stepped back from me, his hands hanging at his sides, but I could see how he wanted to reach out and take hold of me again, his fingers were twitching nervously. He folded up the certificate and stuffed it into the breast pocket of his suit.

"I'll be back soon. I promise." I tried to force some cheer into my voice. "Promise you'll be ready?"

Jasper smiled sadly at me. "Of course. You waited twenty-eight years. I can wait a few hours, I think. Or however long you need."

Oh, my God.

Then he turned, and he walked away from me, and it took every ounce of control I had gained in my years of existence not to run after him, to not beg him to stop.

_Flash. _

Anger, which had been building in me for some time, flared like a wildfire in the wind. I was ready. I used the fuel I had just received to fan those flames: the image of the man I loved, walking away from me. Never again. I'd finish it now.

"Ready or not, here I come," I muttered to myself. Inhaled. Caught the scent on the cool breeze, blowing to me from the south.

***

**JPOV:**

Walking away from Alice was the hardest thing I have ever done.

I walked away and I turned the corner at the end of the block. I kept walking away from her, but I listened, I let my vivid senses rove out from me and taste the wind and hear the breeze.

I heard her mutter to herself. I heard her dash away.

And I also smelled something very familiar. Some_one_.

Without even a moment's consideration, I turned around and I followed Alice. I understood now why she'd been so fearful, so secretive. And the time had come to face things. I hadn't dreamed it would come so soon; I'd hoped it would never come at all. But it was here now, and I swore to everything I held dear, Alice wouldn't face that alone.

The evening darkened and I made myself invisible in the shadows.

***

**APOV:**

"So. _You're_ the one."

The voice came from the shadows of the alley, and it was so familiar, yet so strange. An alto, rumbling purr of a voice, it made me think of a cat licking cream from its whiskers while it extended its claws. And a scent, like evening primrose and patchouli and cumin, spicy and thick enough to choke on. Just like I'd seen Jasper's face and heard his voice, smelled his scent, so many times in my visions before, it was a completely different thing when he stood before me. The same with this voice, this scent. This time, it was real.

_She_ was real.

Maria stepped forward into the pool of yellow light cast by the streetlight.

I studied her for a moment, and I tried to understand what it was about her that had held Jasper for so long.

She was small, like me, but a bit taller. Built differently. She had an hourglass figure like something from a pinup calendar, a tiny waist and generous hips and breasts. Her face was lovely, with kissable bee-stung lips and huge oval eyes, ruby fringed with thick lashes. Her cheekbones slanted exotically, and her jet-black hair hung in ringlets down her back in sensual disarray. Her vampire pallor seemed to cover what had once been skin like cinnamon.

She was completely beautiful, dreadfully compelling. But something about her face, about her whole demeanor, screamed, "_Beware_."

She smiled at me, a cold little smile, and her heavy-lidded eyes took me in, weighing and measuring me like a butcher weighing a side of beef, and she definitely found me wanting.

I forced myself to stand proudly and not tremble beneath her jaundiced eye inspecting me. I didn't have to prove anything. Jasper loved _me_. He had passed time with and left Maria before he even knew I existed, I had not trespassed on her lands or disrespected her coven. He had found me, and I had found him.

"Yes. My name is Alice, and I love him. And he loves me."

How small those words seemed, in the face of such monumental hate and disdain. But they were true.

I looked at her again, and I saw what men saw in her, for just a moment.

She was beautiful. She was sensual and physical. Sex rose off of her in waves, like heat from desert sands. She was the promise of fulfillment, the reward of a long-shot gamble. The lushness of indulgence after a long fast. I almost desired her myself. How could any man say no?

Maria laughed contemptuously. "Love. What good is love, Alice darling, when you have no power?"

Her voice was thickly accented and as exotic as her beauty. My name on her tongue was strange, and I could tell she disliked the taste of it. I stared at her, waiting for more, but she didn't speak again. I couldn't hold back any longer.

"Whatever, Maria. He's not a tool or a piece of property for you to buy or sell, or to make a claim on, years after he left you. He's a man with his own feelings and needs and wants…and you're not any of those things for him. At least, not anymore."

She flinched, bared her teeth; they glittered in the streetlight. "But he's _mine_. I _made_ him, I _taught_ him. I placed my claim on him when I watched him change in front of me, and that will never, ever be erased." Her hands clenched into fists, and I heard the low growl beginning in her chest.

I shook my head, trying to tamp down the fear I felt rising up inside me. Was I not understanding something? Some part of vampire culture, some rule, that I didn't know about? Was she right?

No. No, things weren't like that. Immortals made and broke bonds with each other as they wanted, governed by their random and fleeting affections and quarrels. They aren't a constant people, unless they're part of the Volturi and bound by artificially enhanced bonds, or the kind of vampire that abstains from human blood, like me, like my family-in-waiting. She was simply trying to throw me off-balance, to make me question myself and doubt the love Jasper and I felt for each other.

And that made me even angrier than I'd been before. All my fear vanished, burned up in the fire of my rage.

Who the hell was she, to try to cast aspersions on our relationship? She, who had treated him so crassly, cared for him so little, abused his faith and loyalty? I growled a little, too.

"Oh, just shut up, Maria. Go away. He doesn't want you anymore. He wants _me_. And we're getting married." I steeled myself and half-turned, as if to go. I knew what was about to happen. "Something he never, _ever_ wanted with you, by the way." And I winked at her, conspiratorially.

"_Puta_!" she screeched, baring her teeth, and she leapt for me.

Of course I was ready. I'd seen it coming. And I'd played this game, practiced these tactics years ago with Alistair. But this was infinitely more fun: with Alistair it was all technical and dry; with Maria, I could really let myself feel the passion of the battle.

I'm very, very fast. Did I ever mention that?

Anticipating her trajectory, I whirled and ducked under her, spinning around and reaching up, catching her ankles as she sailed over me; I swung her easily, once, twice, around and around, like you might twirl a child by the ankles, her skirt flying in the wind, a ridiculously startled expression on her face. Then I let her go, and she sailed through the air and smashed into the brick wall of a building with a colossal crash, sliding down into the piled garbage, still screeching like a wet cat as she clawed for purchase.

She came at me again, and again. Each time, I met her advance and repelled her easily. She landed a few blows, a few scratches or grazes with her teeth, but it wasn't anything serious, and my battle frenzy was too high to feel the pain. It was really no contest. Once, almost idly, I took a chunk out of her shoulder and threw it far away into the street beyond the alley, where a passing Plymouth struck it and knocked it down the block. That made me laugh, and made her even more enraged and desperate, as the pain blossomed in her face.

Blow for blow, scratch from scratch, clawing and biting and ripping at each other, we fought for a while, banging into the walls, falling down onto the alley floor. I didn't care about the garbage or the dirt or the fact that humans were probably passing by, or peeking out of their windows to see what all the commotion was about. All I cared about was beating her, beating her to a pulp, beating her literally into the ground if I had to, making her know that Jasper wasn't hers anymore, that he was mine, and that more than that, he was _his_.

We hissed and growled at each other mightily, her with mounting frustration and fear, me with increasing satisfaction and contempt. Finally, I didn't want to extend it anymore. I grabbed her up and slammed her down onto the pavement, kneeling on her splayed arms as I slammed her head into the asphalt over and over again by her hair.

"You." _Bang_.

"Will." _Bang_.

"Leave." _Bang_.

"Him." _Bang_.

"_Alone!_" _**Bang**_!

She screamed in pain, writhing beneath me, but I didn't let her I picked her up again, turned her around, so her back was against me. For a moment it was almost confusing: my body remembered Jasper holding me like that as he loved me, and it repulsed me to mirror that image with her. But I had to end it, and end it now.

"And to think, I was so afraid of you!" I whispered into her ear, pulling a handful of her hair and jerking back her head, exposing her neck. I held her against me with one arm across her shoulders. I could feel her gasping in pain as I ground my elbow into the place where I'd wounded her. "You're nothing! You've always been nothing, you never deserved even a _moment_ of his time or devotion!"

I was a warrior. I was a raging, primordial goddess. I'd torn down my rival, hurt her, made her fear me, and I'd make her do my bidding.

I threw Maria away from me, staying with the hank of long, black hair in my hand as a trophy. She stumbled to her knees, almost sobbing. "But he's mine!" she whimpered, looking back at me, crimson eyes wide and full of hate and fear. I felt a surge of elation: she feared _me_! "He promised to stay with me, to help me!"

My lip curled with contempt. "Help you with what? Be a petty, nasty little monarch that kills her subjects and betrays the man she says she wants so much?" I lunged at her. "Sometimes, promises must be broken, if they're made to someone who is completely false. After all, you promised to care for him, to love him, even, and you never did!"

She recoiled as I took hold of the collar of her shirt, which ripped a little beneath my fingers; there wasn't much left of her clothing now, but it her near-nakedness wasn't sexy in the least.

I held my bared teeth inches from her exposed throat, the venom welling up in my mouth, sweet and sour, the whole world red-painted with my rage; my body begged me to kill her, to rip her to shreds. _End it now. Like this_.

Maria raised her hands helplessly; she was weak, she was in pain, she was beaten. "Please, please…" she sobbed, looking anywhere but at my eyes, inches from hers. "Please, I'll…All right, I'll go, I'll leave him alone, I promise! Just, please, don't kill me!" Her lips trembled.. "I don't want to die!" Her voice was thin and plaintive, agonized, a wail, begging and completely defeated.

I watched her face for a moment, and I scanned the future. She wasn't lying. At least, she wasn't lying _now_. It was impossible to know what a creature like this might do in the future, spurred on by her impossible ego. _You should just kill her anyway and get it over with. No more worries._

But I'm better than that. I didn't want to kill her, I just wanted to scare her. And I'd done that well, it seemed. Killing her now, like this, would be like killing a wounded, broken animal just for the spite of it, when you're not even hungry. And I'm not that kind of girl.

"Leave, Maria. Leave, and never bother Jasper again. Never bother _us_ again." I felt her shudder against me as a whispered into her ear. "I won't kill you, but you have to promise that. On whatever sliver of honor you might have, promise it." I paused, then tightened my grip on her for emphasis. "Or I _will_ kill you next time, without a second thought."

Maria twitched and I wondered for a moment if she might fight back again; then, she drooped like a wilted flower, and would have fallen to the ground if not for my hold on her. When she spoke, it was in a whisper, tiny and defeated.

"I promise."

But as a final parting gift, as a warning for the future, should she think about breaking her promise…I lowered my head, my face to her shoulder, and I ran my tongue along the edge of the gaping wound I'd left there, assuring a scar, as her flesh healed in the path of my venom. She gasped in pain at the sting of it on her flesh, as it began knitting itself together clumsily. "No!" She thought I was going to kill her. "No, please, no!"

"Shut up, Maria." I turned her around and shoved her away from me; she sprawled onto her back on the filthy asphalt, her eyes huge, her long dark hair in a tangled and knotted mass spilling into a puddle of cloudy water. "And I'm not the whore here. _No me llamas puta_. You are, Maria. _Tu eres la_ _madre de todas las putas del mundo_," I hissed through my clenched teeth.

I pointed down the alley, where I could just barely see a glow from the street beyond. "Go now. And don't ever bother us again."

She nodded jerkily, her eyes never leaving my face, crawling back, crablike, away from me through the muck of the alley, until she felt safe enough to stand up,. hHer hand going went unconsciously to her shoulder, which was healed now into a deep, lumpy depression: she'd bear that horrible concave scar forever. She'd feel it, see it, and think of me. She'd remember her promise to me, remember how I beat her so utterly, and then spared her to live with her shame. And how I'd happily tear her to tiny pieces if she ever dared break that promise.

Then Maria was gone without a backward glance, leaving nothing behind but the scent of her in the air. The spicy scent It mixed with the putrid smells of the garbage and the streets in a way that turned my stomach.

Only then did I allow myself to feel anything; in an instant, the rage and pride drained away, leaving me completely empty, like the fire inside me had burned everything else away. and I felt every scratch and bite she'd managed to inflict. My clothes were in a shambles, ripped and filthy. _I _was filthy, my hair standing up around my face as if I'd been struck by lightning. I sunk to my knees on the pavement and took a long, shuddering breath, wrapping my arms around my body, hugging myself.

It was over.

Then, he was there.

***

**JPOV:**

I followed along and traced her path. She went deeper into the city, into the worst part of town, a place of dirty alleyways and piled garbage and broken windows. She seemed hesitant, as if she was waiting for something, looking for something, but she didn't know what or where.

I watched her stop suddenly in the mouth of an alley, turn to the sound of something.

Oh, my God, I knew that voice well.

The wind came to me, and I felt my whole body tense up, I froze in place there against the side of the building, as I smelled that scent. I knew it so wellintimately, I'd never thought to smell it again. I'd caught an edge of it before, when I began following Alice, but I had clung to a thin hope that perhaps I was wrong.

My eyes closed. So many memories came flooding back, like poisoned, dirty water from a burst dam, the deluge overwhelmed me for a moment, carried away by that scent.

_Maria._

Her eyes, her lips, her teeth, the touch of her fingers and her tongue, her laugh, her wicked smile. Her contempt, her anger, her disgust; her raging tantrums, her insults, her lies and deceptions.

My eyes flew open, I didn't see Alice anymore, but I heard the unmistakable sounds of battle from the alley, crashes and hisses and growls and the ripping of cloth. I forced my body to unclench itself and crept forward, so I could see what was going on. I would have to help Alice, I knew, she was so small, so delicate, and Maria was a seasoned fighter, vicious as a wounded bear and faster than lightning. But I didn't want to surprise them, and maybe cause Alice to make a fatal mistake. I should have known better by then, to not underestimate Alice.

Imagine my surprise, when I didn't have to do a thing.

I watched from the street, concealing myself behind a fire escape, as Alice kicked Maria's tail up one side of that alley and down the other.

I'd never seen anyone fight like her. She was amazing. She was magnificent. She anticipated Maria's every move, and she did more than just fight her: Alice humiliated her, she teased and taunted Maria, baited her, turning that wounded bear into a wounded mess, and the lightning had stoppedfizzled into nothing. At one point Alice dug a chunk of flesh from Maria's shoulder and threw it past me, into the street, where it bounced away. I had to stifle a laugh as the car knocked it even further down the lane, incongruously white and small as it rolled into the darkening evening.

She was so beautiful, so strong and passionate. How had I ever doubted her?

This was what she'd been hiding from me. She hadn't wanted to worry me, or make me try to protect her: she could protect herself quite well, thank you very much.

I was struck by the oddness of the whole thing. Here I was, the warrior, the killer, the protector…hiding behind a fire escape. And there she was, my tiny little woman, who seemed so delicate she might be blown away by a stray breeze…kicking Maria's ass. Well. Completely.

I had to swallow my pride and let her do it, though. I knew it would make Alice angry to have this taken away from her. I imagined her seeing me with Maria all those years before we met, and I knew it hurt her, but she was too proud to talk about it with me. She didn't want to seem petty or jealous. But even if she had said something about it, I would have understood: God knows, if she'd had lovers before me, I would have happily hunted them all down, one by one, and killed them just for having dared touch her, even if it was years before I met her.

She was mine. Totally. And there she was, staking her own claim to me and my past, cleaning house, it could be said. Mopping the floor with Maria.

It was over quickly. I heard Alice's voice, firm and sure, as she tolwhispered tod Maria to leave and never bother me, or us, ever again. I watched in awe as Alice held Maria against her, immobile, and coated the wound on Maria's shoulder with her venom: the white flesh healed rapidly, into an ugly, pitted scar. I knew what that would mean to Maria, who was as vain as a peacock and conceited beyond measure.

When Maria had gone, Alice fell to her knees, and I watched her for a moment, as she wrapped her arms around her own shoulders, as if she was cold. I saw her tremble, and I could feel her pain and exhaustion, even from that distance. She was a mess, her clothes torn, spattered with mud and grime from the alley floor. I could smell that she'd been wounded, and I felt a stab of fear and concern for her. I couldn't help it any more. I had to go to her.

"Baby."

I put my arms around her and pulled her to me, I cradled her against my chest like she was a child. I kissed her forehead, I kissed her lips, I pressed my cheek against the top of her head and rocked her gently.

"She's gone now. She'll never bother you again," she whispered, her fingers closing over mine. "I'm…I'm sorry I lied to you." She turned her face to my chest, rubbing her cheek against the fabric of my shirt and inhaling, as if she was trying to make sure I was really there. "I—I can't have you not trust me. I'd rather die."

I felt her shame and her pain. Not shame or pain that she'd been discovered in a lie; she was ashamed for having lied in the first place. Immediately I hated myself for every second I'd doubted her.

Alice lifted her face and looked up at me. Her cheeks were smudged with grime, her eyes huge and sad. "I know it was wrong. But I didn't want her to get close to you. I saw what she had planned, I had to stop it."

I wondered what Maria had been planning. She was devious and sneaky, a weasel, but I didn't ask Alice any more. She'd tell me if she wanted to, and I didn't want to hurt her anymore by asking.

"It's all right, Alice. But I wish, in the future, that you'd share things with me. Everything. Even things that you are afraid of, or want to protect me from."

She sighed. "But what about when something might hurt you? I don't…I don't want to hurt you, Jasper. She hurt you enough. Enough for a lifetime."

I tightened my hold on her, and I uncorked the bottle of my emotions. I let them flow over her, saturate her, for just a moment, with their intensity. She gasped, her eyes wide as she stared up at me. "We are together, Alice. Forever. You can't always protect me, and I suppose I can't always protect you." I had to laugh a little, remembering the fight. "I don't guess I really need to protect you, really, you do a pretty good job of it yourself. But you have to trust _me_, that I can handle those kinds of things. But wWe'll deal with those things, together. Right? Together."

I watched her pupils dilate as she felt my love, my fierceness, my desire. "You've been alone so long. So have I. It's strange, isn't it? Not being alone anymore?" she whispered, her lips inches from mine. I smelled her sweet breath. I felt her body against mine, so small and delicate, but it housed something so infinitely strong and powerful, her soul, her mind, her spirit.

And they were all mine. As I was all hers.

"Strange…Unusual, perhaps. Different, definitely. But very, very welcome." I closed her mouth with a kiss; I felt her hands come up and twine themselves in my hair, as she arched her back and pressed herself against me. "I love you, Alice. I love you now, and I'll love you forever."

"I love you too, Jasper. Always and forever."

***

**APOV:**

It was a beautiful Sunday evening.

Jasper and I got married in the courthouse, witnessed by the court clerk and the bailiff. I wore a darling little white suit and I carried a little bouquet of lilies and baby's breath; Jasper wore a dark suit with a blue shirt and tie, a single white rose pinned to his lapel.

The Justice of the Peace smiled benevolently at us. "Please repeat after me, if you would," he said softly, his eyes shifting to me. "You first, ma'am."

"'_I, Alice Smith, take thee, Jasper Whitlock, to be my wedded husband,  
to have and to hold from this day forward,  
for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer,_

_Above all others,  
in sickness or in health, to love and to cherish, 'til death do us part,  
according to God's holy ordinance;  
thereto I pledge my love.'"_

I repeated the words as I looked up into his eyes, and I wished that I could cry. I felt the pressure of the tears I wanted to shed behind my eyeballs; I felt my whole body seize up in the desire to sob, but not with grief or pain. I had never been so happy. I had never felt so completely _good_. He was a golden-haired, crimson-eyed angel as he stared down at me, his gaze so intense I thought it might melt me to an Alice-colored puddle of goo at his feet. His hands in mine were strong and sure. And he smiled at me as I stammered through those simple words, smiling at my nervousness and my happiness, because he felt the same way.

The Justice looked at Jasper and smiled. "And now, you, sir, repeat after me?"

Jasper never lifted his eyes from mine.

"_I, Jasper Whitlock, take thee, Alice, to be my wedded wife,  
to have and to hold from this day forward,  
for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer,_

_Above all others,__  
__in sickness or in health, to love and to cherish, 'til death do us part,  
according to God's holy ordinance;  
thereto I pledge my love."_

The judge smiled and nodded at Jasper. "The rings?"

Jasper reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black box, popping the lid open easily. Two golden circles gleamed against the black velvet, simple, unadorned.

I reached out and took one, and Jasper took the other. Our eyes never strayed: I only saw him, he only saw me.

I slid the ring onto his finger. "With this ring, I thee wed," I whispered, repeating the words after the judge spoke them.

I felt the cool metal pass over my knuckle, to rest on the top joint of my ring finger, the gold shining dully. I heard Jasper's voice.

"With this ring, I thee wed."

The judge grinned broadly, shutting his worn Bible with a thump. "Congratulations, children. I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride!"

For just a moment we hesitated. Not because we didn't want to kiss, not because we felt anything less than complete ecstasy at knowing it was done. We hesitated in awe. Or at least I did.

His face was like the sun, he shone, he glowed, as he smiled at me. A quiet, powerful smile. Like we alone had a secret, a wonderful and impossibly miraculous secret.

And me? I must have looked quite the fool, grinning up at him like a love-struck teenager. How could I not? He was perfect; I had waited for him for almost thirty years. I had used his face as my compass, as my True North, for all those years. And now, he was standing before me, my ring on his finger, my vows still echoing in his ears. He was mine. And I was his.

He lips came down on mine with crushing strength, and he let me feel the entire weight of his love for me. I was buried in a landslide, crushed in a rock fall, drowned in a tidal wave, but every sensation was an explosion of joy. I didn't care if I died in that explosion. I _was_ the explosion.

I let myself be swept away. Nothing else mattered.

***

**JPOV:**

I took my wife back to the hotel room and I made love to her. I had always heard that phrase before, "making love," but had never understood what it meant. And as much as I had enjoyed our coupling before we had been married, something had changed with that ceremony, simple as it had been.

I looked down into her face and I knew it was the face of my wife, my partner, my other half, that was so consumed with desire. I held her hand in mine against the pillow and saw the gleam of the gold of the ring on her finger and knew it showed the world she was mine. She gasped into my ear and told me she loved me, and I knew she'd never love another.

My world had changed. I was a husband. I had responsibilities and duties. But they weren't burdensome; I relished the idea of protecting her, of providing for her. But considering the kind of wife I had, I had my work cut out for me. She was a successful person in her own right, a rich woman, educated, cultured, and she could kick some ass when she needed to. She'd be doing plenty of protecting and providing herself, I bet.

What on earth did someone like that need me for?

In the warm golden light of dawn, she lifted her head from where it was pillowed on my arm and smiled at me. "Thank you," she murmured.

I raised my eyebrows at her. "What for?"

Alice closed her eyes and nuzzled her face against my shoulder. "For accepting me. For never trying to make me something I'm not. For never questioning that I love you."

I pulled back from her a little, but not so far as to alarm her. I wanted her to see my eyes.

"Alice, I'm the one who should say those words, and you know it."

She giggled. "But it's true for us both, baby."

I nodded ruefully, drawing my fingertips along the line of her back, producing a very delicious little shiver in her. "I guess so. We're both freaks."

Alice nodded. "But I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Definitely not. I'm starting to like being a freak, if you're the reward."

Her mouth found mine then, and speaking wasn't an option for a long time.

Later, spent, the noonday sun pouring down all hot and golden around us, she brought up the thing I'd pushed away so long agoearlier. The thing she'd asked me to trust her about. A scarce forty-eight hours before.

"I have something for you, Jasper."

I grinned, reaching for her. "Again? So soon?"

She laughed and pulled way. "No, I'm serious!"

I tried to be serious, but she was entirely too beautiful like that, naked as the day she was born, her knees drawn up to her chest. Her black hair stood out around her face in disarray, her skin glittered in the sunlight.

"All right, then. What is it?"

She got up and went to the dresser. I watched her, enchanted. She was so lovely, so small and perfectly formed, as she pulled something from a drawer. Alice turned to me and she held an envelope in her hand, which she extended toward me.

"I got this a few years ago." She swallowed convulsively, and I felt her trepidation. "It's from your sister."


	13. Chapter 13: Lover's Lane

**Chapter 13: Lover's Lane**

**APOV:**

Jasper stared at the envelope in my hands with wide eyes, his mouth half-open in shock and something very close to dread, as if I were trying to hand him a poisonous snake or a loaded gun. His gaze shifted up to meet mine. "Where…" He stopped, took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a moment. "Where did you get that?" His voice was strangled, breathless.

I bit my lip anxiously. "In South Dakota. From—from your niece."

He blinked in surprise. He still didn't take the envelope, which I still held out to him. "My _niece_?"

"Yes. Her name is Margaret. And I also met her children, your great-niece and nephew." I had to stifle an urge to laugh crazily at what I had to tell him next. He was already close to the edge, I didn't want to push him over the brink into a true breakdown by laughing, I had to proceed with caution. "Their names are Jasper…and Alice."

He still went over the edge.

Jasper went completely still, as we do when things just get to be too much: he was suddenly a marble statue of a gorgeous naked man sitting in the middle of the bed, staring helplessly at me. I sighed and put the letter down on the edge of the nightstand, reaching for my robe. As I shrugged into it and tied the sash, I scanned the future, hoping his interlude as a sculpture wouldn't last too long.

After a few minutes he thawed, shaking his head as if to dispel the remains of a bad dream, turning to look again at the inoffensive envelope. With visibly trembling hands he reached for it, took it as if it might shatter into a million pieces, holding it with both infinite care and infinite reluctance.

"Do you know what it says?" Jasper finally asked, looking up at me. I leaned against the bedpost and crossed my arms, shaking my head no. "Really? You…you didn't look for this moment? To see? Out of curiosity or something?"

I rolled my eyes. "I don't want to know _everything_. I could have. But I didn't. I wanted to respect your privacy." The whole thing was beginning to irritate me, actually: here was a message from beyond the grave, from the sister he'd spoken of with such love. Here was proof that she'd never stopped thinking of him. And there he was, acting as if he'd been struck by lightning, or was terrified of something. As if this might be bad news.

He licked his lips and looked down at the envelope again. "South Dakota?"

I nodded. "Yes, I was up that way a few years ago. I didn't know why at first; I thought it was to meet another vampire, a man named Charles, but I had no idea why. But once I met your niece and her children, and she knew I was coming, and gave me that letter for you…Well, let's just say that the purpose for my needing to go there became evident."

His head snapped up, eyebrows raised in surprise. "Charles?" He touched his chin. "French guy, blonde, with a beard and a bad attitude?"

I had to laugh then. It was so true. "Yes, and a big old gun."

Jasper actually chuckled, which filled my heart with relief. Then he sobered as something occurred to him. "So…Does he know my…my relatives?" I said yes, to which he nodded to himself in satisfaction. "I wondered why he seemed so shocked by my last name. And why he didn't tell me anything. I left right away. I thought he was very odd and more than a little rude."

I took a moment to remember Charles and his strange vow, his strange commitment to defend the humans' land. It wasn't until many years later that everything came out, and then all I could do was shake my head in wonder at how small the world truly is, how so many things are connected.

He sighed and carefully slipped a finger beneath the edge of the envelope's flap, pausing for a moment, his eyes stormy. "I don't know if I want to read this, Alice. The last thing Ginny ever sent me, before I was changed…she was angry. Very, very angry at me. For leaving. It hurt my family more than I had ever thought could be possible." He looked at me, his whole heart laid bare and vulnerable in his face, and my whole body throbbed with the sight of his anguish. "It was my fault," he whispered.

I went and sat beside him, putting my arms around him, concentrating on letting him feel my love. "Baby, your niece, Margaret, told me that your sister loved you very much. She was not angry at you anymore." I paused, remembering our conversation years earlier, at that homely kitchen table. "She did mention that there were problems with your family. But she wasn't angry anymore."

He turned to press his lips against mine, his own arms coming up to pull me against his chest, and the force of his hunger and his torment was dizzying as it poured out of him and into me. "I don't deserve you," he whispered against my lips.

I had to make myself pull away from him, making a mental note to continue this "discussion" shortly. But he had a date with a letter that had been waiting for years. It didn't need to be put off any more. "Read it," I said quietly, tapping the letter, which had fallen, forgotten, onto the bed beside him. "Now."

Jasper exhaled and picked up the envelope. With fingers that trembled ever-so-slightly, he carefully opened it, and withdrew a square of folded papers. He unfolded the pages gently, and both of us were startled when something fell out of them, a shining something that landed on his bare knee, catching the sunlight and sparkling.

I picked it up, holding it to the light, where the silver and turquoise gleamed as the small pendant spun a bit between my fingers. "What is this?" I asked quietly. I'd never seen anything like it: a silver circle crisscrossed with thin silver wires, some of which served as a mount for tiny turquoise beads. Like a spiderweb, almost, with dewdrops caught along the strands.

Jasper's brow furrowed. "A dream catcher?"

I raised one eyebrow. "What's that?"

He reached up to take it from me, holding it in his palm for a moment before answering. "I heard of these. The Indians make them, they say they keep out bad dreams and catch the good ones forever for you." He shook his head in confusion. "Why on earth would my sister send me this?"

I shrugged. "Well, she did marry an Indian, after all. Maybe it means something to her for you. Maybe she explains it in the letter, which you need to read now!"

Jasper chuckled, and then froze again for a split second in surprise. "Wait. She…she married an _Indian_?" For the first time, his old-fashioned morals and beliefs surfaced, and I disliked what I saw. "Really? An _Indian_?"

I rolled my eyes and got up, going to take the photograph from my dresser drawer. I held it out to him and shook my head in disapproval. "Really, Jasper. That's just plain rude. You didn't know him. Who cares if he was an Indian? After all, _you're_ a _vampire_!" I wagged my fingerin his face. "At least _he_ was _human_!"

Jasper took the photograph from me and had the good grace to look sheepish, a bit ashamed. Then he looked down at the figures in the picture, and I heard him sigh, and felt a rush of sadness and pride flowing out from him as he looked into his sister's face, and the face of her husband.

"She…she was beautiful." He touched her face tentatively, as if afraid he might break her. "She was a pretty girl. But she was a beautiful woman. I wish I could've known her then, seen her like this with my own eyes." He smiled wryly. "I suppose he's a good-looking fellow, though. I can see why she'd be sweet on him."

I sat back down beside him, peering over his shoulder at the picture. It was true, William Standing Bear had been a very handsome young man. Very dark and exotic-looking with his bright black eyes and defined cheekbones, and long black hair, tall and broad through the shoulders. But besides being handsome, he also looked kind, and strong in every way, and he was obviously in love with her: instead of looking at the camera, as Ginny did, he was looking down at her and smiling, as if he couldn't take his eyes off her. As if she were the center of his existence.

Who wouldn't love something like that? Being adored so completely?

"All right then," Jasper muttered determinedly, handing me the picture and reaching for the letter. "Let's get this over with then, shall we? So you'll leave me alone about it?" He shot me a sly sidelong glance; I punched him in the arm.

I sat back, looked away. I needed to give him his space, to read whatever it said, without feeling he had an audience.

***

**JPOV:**

From the moment Alice uttered the words "your sister" my world turned upside down, then turned over again once more for good measure.

_Ginny. _

I was caught up in a sea of memories, as vague and ephemeral as the memories of a dream, but I knew they were real. I'd tried to keep them fresh, gone over them constantly after my change, but human memories were never sharp: perceived originally through weak senses, they didn't stand up well to the examination of a superior eye.

Ginny as a baby, pink and pretty in her cradle, then as she grew older and blossomed like a rose, a golden-haired little goddess with too-old eyes. I'd guarded her from snakes. I'd picked her flowers and snuck her cookies. When she'd had a bad dream she'd run to curl up in my bed and let me soothe her to sleep. She'd played endless tricks on me, caused me so much misery…but no matter what, we were always the best of friends. I'd known she was special, with her odd dreams, and felt protective of her, because I knew what it meant to be different.

Amid the roar of those memories and the agony of the thought of her last words to me, in that letter I'd gotten from her about what was happening at home…amidst it all, I wondered, was it coincidence I loved Alice the way I did? She and Ginny looked nothing alike, except that both of them were tiny, but both were wise beyond their years, both of them prescient and precocious and odd, both graceful and feisty and playful. They say a man falls in love with a girl like his mother, but Alice was nothing like my mother: she was like Ginny. I'd loved my mother devotedly, but it was my sister who had been the queen of my heart. It made sense.

And then, when Alice said the names of Ginny's children…Jasper. And _Alice_. _Alice?_

How on earth did that happen? Was it random chance? Was it some fluke? Or had my sister had another of her dreams or premonitions, like the time with the locusts, known that somehow I would meet a woman named Alice who would change my life, make me whole?

Yes, it had to be something like that. How else would her daughter (_Margaret after my mother_), my niece, have a letter from her mother for Alice, ready and waiting for my future wife to flutter by and pick it up?

I was boggled by the enormity and complexity of it all, the weight of fate, destiny, chance, the divine plan. Whatever it was, we'd been caught up in it like a spider web, which connected us all impossibly and improbably.

And then, Charles. Charles, how very weird. He had met us both, probably only a few years apart. Was Alice who he'd been referring to when he mentioned meeting another gifted immortal? Probably. Alice made an impression on anyone who met her.

Finally, I was looking down at the picture of my sister and her husband, and I was staggered by how lovely she'd become, how her eyes shone, she was so happy. The way she clutched her husband's hand, the way the handsome young man stared down at her, entranced…She was smiling into the camera, as if she knew I would be looking at this photograph, she was smiling at _me_. That smile so carefree and reassuring, telling me that she was all right, that even though I'd broken and burned everything by leaving, it was all right. She forgave me.

The dream catcher sparkled in the sunlight as it lay in the palm of my hand. I wondered what it meant, why she'd sent it to me. It made me remember the letter.

I felt Alice pull back from me, giving me space to read that letter, a modicum of privacy. I felt a rush of gratitude toward her: she'd carried these things for me, waited for me, tried not to pry with her sight, to allow me my time to absorb it all. I owed her a huge debt for that. I would repay her in full, no matter what it took, if I could.

I smoothed the faded yellow paper carefully against my knee and read, every nerve in my body jangling with anxiety.

"**Dear Big Brother,**

"**I know the last time I wrote you wasn't exactly sweet. In fact, it was downright awful. I should never have sent it. I was just so very miserable and sad, you have no idea what was happening with Mama and Papa, and I was feeling very selfish and self-righteous that day. Please, Jasper, forgive me for that. I have hated myself for that deed ever since, knowing that the last time you had anything from me it was poisonous and unfair. You did what you felt was right, and now, I understand what was going on. I was young and unsure and felt abandoned, but that's no excuse for that kind of behavior. I hope that somewhere you can find the ability to forgive me.**

"**As I said in that letter, things were awful after you left. Mama and Papa were never the same. I never realized how much you were holding us all together, a bunch of frail and high-strung people who relied on you in ways you never even dreamed. It got worse once we got news of your death. Mama almost killed herself. Papa drank himself into a stupor. Everything was dark and sad, and I didn't know what to do to make it better. When you were there you always seemed to make others happy, to keep things from getting tense. And without you, everything just went to hell in a hand basket. But it's not your fault that we were all weak and too dependent on you. You had a bigger destiny, and so did I, but I didn't understand that then.**

"**Eventually, things got better. Mama woke up from her depression for the most part, Papa stopped drinking, and it all seemed to be all right again. Well, as much as possible. Mama never changed your bedroom, your pictures never came down from the walls, but no one ever said your name. Except me. I took your pillow and I slept with it until I left home. I would've taken it with me when I left, if I could have.**

"**I was supposed to be sent to go to school up north, but then I met William. My husband. Oh, Jasper, I think if you'd met him you'd have been great friends. He is a lot like you, very strong but gentle at the same time, and he knows just what to do to keep me in check. You know how I am. I saw him the first time the day of my fifteenth birthday, and I loved him from the first moment I lay eyes on him, and he felt the same for me. It was a gift from above, our love. We've paid dearly for it, it has never been easy to love someone like him in a world like ours, but I wouldn't trade a moment of my time with him for a lifetime of ease. I know that you will find someone, that she will take you this letter, and that she will help make you whole again. By now you should understand when I speak about a love that is deep and strange and destined by something greater than any of us. So I hope you'll put aside your prejudices, the ones that Papa pounded into your head for years, and just allow me my happiness with my husband. But I'll have had it anyway regardless of having your blessing, and since I'll be dead by the time you read this, I suppose there's little you can do about it if you **_**do**_** disapprove!"**

I shook my head and laughed. I could almost see her, hands on her hips, bright blue eyes sparkling with defiance, daring me to disapprove of something she'd done. I'd seen it so many times, so many years ago.

"**We eventually got married in secret, but it came out before too long. It was too hard to hide how we felt from everyone. It did hurt Mama and Papa terribly, but they couldn't do anything to stop it, especially since by the time we told them, we were already married. And I was expecting Margaret, so what could they do?"**

I covered my eyes and sighed. How like my sister to elope and return home pregnant with the news of her wedding. My poor parents! I could picture my mother fainting from shock, my father turning purple with rage and chewing his mustache, his fingers twitching as they searched for his rifle, Ginny standing proudly with her swelling stomach, attesting to how little she cared for their beliefs. I wondered about her husband, hoping he had stood proudly beside her. I thought he might have. He'd _better_ have.

"**After we told Mama and Papa, it was best to go. Papa might have eventually recovered from his shock and gone looking for a gun. And besides, I wanted to find out about you.**

"**You see, brother, I knew you weren't dead. I'd had a sneaking suspicion about it from the very beginning, but I never said anything to anyone. Of course I was devastated. It destroyed me. But something wouldn't let me accept it completely. I had some help, though. **

"**I don't think it will come to you as a complete shock to know that I am a very strange person. You've always known that. You should remember my dreams. I guess you always thought I was some kind of a seer or something like your woman will be. But I'm not. It's a bit stranger than that. I hear the voices of the dead, of spirits, if you will. I have always been able to. They tell me things all the time. They help me make decisions, they warn me of things. Sometimes they share things with me from their lives before. And since they exist in a realm where there is no time, they know things will happen, and occasionally, if it's important, they'll tell me about it."**

I paused and considered this, oddly unsurprised.

I remembered Ginny standing there in the middle of a room, still as a statue, her head cocked to the side a bit, as if listening to someone, someone I couldn't hear. How sometimes she'd look over my shoulder at something that wasn't there. How I had often passed the closed door to her bedroom and heard her, especially when she was a small child, babbling away in conversation with an empty room. I'd usually chalked it up to her restive and carefree nature and vivid imagination. Now I knew: she was really listening, seeing, talking…with those who were invisible and inaudible to everyone else but her.

"**I'd had a particularly horrid night, shortly after meeting William for the first time. I was desperate for reassurance, torn in all directions by my desire to do the right thing for everyone. I knew Mama and Papa would never let me be with him. They'd send me back east to die a spinster before they'd give me their blessing to marry an Indian. I was mad at you for being dead. You were always my supporter, the one who helped me when I was unsure of myself. I resented you leaving me. And finally, one of my whisperers—that's what I call them—told me that you **_**weren't**_** dead. Not really. Not like we'd been told.**

"**It seems that you'd killed this particular man, in Mexico. He showed me the last moments of his life, and I have to tell you, Jasper, it was quite shocking how you'd changed."**

I closed my eyes and felt the guilt rush back in again, choking and bitter. She'd seen me kill someone through their eyes? Relived the man's memories of me slaughtering him? She knew what I was?

But of course she did. Why else would she have a letter for me, years and years after I should have been dead?

So she knew I was a monster.

Alice's arms slipped around me, pulling me tight against her. "Baby, whatever it is, it'll be all right. I know it. Okay?" she murmured into my ear, her cool little fingers stroking my face tenderly.

I inhaled raggedly, filling my lungs with the scent of her, so comforting and familiar and beautiful. I opened my eyes and I looked up at her, at her sweet and perfect face. Her eyes were bottomless golden wells that I wanted to lose myself in. They were full of her unconditional love, her acceptance for me, things I had never known I needed until I had them from her, completely undeserved.

Then it struck me, as I gazed into those golden eyes.

If I was a monster, so was she.

She was like me. She'd killed humans before, although nothing like what I had done, of course…But she was an immortal, too. A vampire. That sweet smell wasn't human, it was the unique scent of her changed body, that body that had been changed into what it was now, gloriously strong and beautiful and immortal. But she thirsted after blood like I did, no matter how she was able to restrain it. I wondered what she'd been like, before, when she was living off human blood, her eyes flaming red like mine—although mine were slowly lightening.

So, Alice was a monster?

No, no she wasn't. She was just _Alice_.

_My Alice_. And I loved her the way she was. I didn't know if I would have loved her as a frail human, although I would have been drawn to her, just based on her being beautiful and different. I wondered if I had met her as a human, both of us mortal, would we still have loved each other? Would our hearts have drawn each other ever onward to find ourselves in each others' eyes? Would we have been like Ginny and her William, our passion enduring until the death of one of us?

Oh, God, her death? The thought of her dying made me go cold inside, it seized my entire body with agonizing fear. She could never die. I could never be without her, ever again.

Oh no, no, I wanted Alice forever. Forever, meaning unending years of having her like this, forever young and beautiful and passionately in love with me. Never having to throw dirt onto her casket as it was lowered into the grave, pass empty years without her if I outlived her. It couldn't be borne. If that meant that I had to be a vampire, to have her forever…well, I was getting to be more comfortable with that. And apparently Ginny was accepting of it as well.

"**I was shocked, really. Very surprised. And horrified and angry at first, to be honest. I was stunned that beings such as what you'd become actually existed outside of nightmares and stories. But then I realized you'd become what you are against your will, and that you only do what you are made to do now, what your body tells you to do. Once I realized you were alive, I wanted to see you. My whisperers told me not to do it, but I went against them, and I dragged William along with me, of course.**

"**We went down to Mexico, and I saw you with my own eyes, Big Brother. Not for long, of course, it was too dangerous. Apparently there were many others of your kind around, and both William and my whisperers told me that it would be a bad idea to try to speak to you. But I saw you and I realized you were still you, and I felt more at peace. I let William bundle me back up north. We went up to Dakota Territory, where his family is from, and there we had our daughter, Margaret, who your woman, Alice will meet. She'll give Alice this letter for you.**

"**Jasper, ever since that last time I saw your face, I have cried for you. Not because you are some kind of monster, but because I know you're in so much pain. You always took more on than you should have; you always felt the pain of others as intensely as your own. You're so sensitive without being a sissy, and I think this new life of yours has intensified that trait. I could see in your face how unhappy you were. I prayed that you'd find some kind of happiness. I asked my whisperers to look in on you and tell me what was happening. I asked them to show me something of the future, so I could be at peace. So they did.**

"**They showed me your Alice. She's quite something, that girl. Reminds me of me when I was a girl. A firecracker. But how marvelous, that she is so gifted and so special, and she's all yours. You had better be a good man to her, brother, or I just might come and haunt you.**

"**I hate to tell you about Mama and Papa, but I suppose it's easier coming from me than someone else. After William and I left we kept in touch, occasional letters, but they refused to use my whole last name ('Standing', not 'Standing Bear,' as if not saying one word might change who I married?). Then, one day in 1871, I got a letter from Papa's attorney. He said that Mama had been very sick, Doc B said he thought it was cancer of some kind, because she just wasted away, and one morning she just didn't wake up. She died on March 7. Then, two days later, Papa was found laying on his sofa in his office, and he was dead, too. No one knows what happened, Doc told the attorney that there was no sign of anything wrong with him, no alcohol, no visible wounds. Doc said that he thought Papa maybe had a coronary in his sleep, or maybe that he just didn't want to live any more after all of us were gone. That was March 9. I felt bad, and I still feel bad to this day, that he died alone, but I couldn't live my life just for them. At least they both went peacefully. I talk to them every now and then, but they're still a little mad at me, so they don't come around too often. Stubborn old people."**

I stared down at the words for a long time, willing them to make some sense, or maybe even to change. But I couldn't do that. I couldn't go back in time and make things happen differently. I knew Mother and Father were long-dead, and I had wanted to know what happened to them. Now I did.

Knowing didn't really help anything, though.

"**The attorney asked me what to do with the farm, and I told him to sell it off at the best price possible. When he got a good offer I said take it, and I hope you'll agree with what I did. I was thinking about you, and I think I made a good choice. After the sale of the farm and all the assets, and then the money in the various bank accounts and such, there was quite a nice little nest egg there. So I divided it into three parts. I kept one third for me and mine, and then I gave one third to Mama Dina and John, because they were just like parents to us. They used the money to buy their own plot of land out in California, where people are more accepting of them. And your part I deposited in the Wells Fargo Bank in Rapid City, under the name of Jasper Whitlock. I'm assuming your wife will know what to do for you to be able to get that money. She seems very creative. I hope you use it well."**

I felt a smile break the tension on my face. So, I had money of my own, did I? Of course I didn't begrudge Dina and John anything. God knows, she changed my diapers more than Mother ever had, and John had been the one to look after me day after day, while Papa was out doing his own things.

But money of my own…I knew better than to make a decision about it, lest I give my plans away to my far-too-gifted wife, but money had its distinct advantages. I knew Alice was wealthy, she'd provided well for herself with her sight and judicious investments. And I knew she had no compunctions about sharing it with me, but it wasn't the same. I was a man, I felt I should be able to contribute something to our little family's upkeep. And also, I still hadn't properly proposed to her, after all. I'd done things rather backward. We'd gotten married, rings and all…but she didn't have an engagement ring. I knew she'd like that. Hmmm….

"**As for my little family…Well, I hate to say it, but I have to. So: Ddon't come looking for my family. It's forbidden. Things are complicated; there are things I cannot tell you, under any circumstances. It has to do with the tribal traditions, sacred things I cannot break. But please, don't think I don't want you to know my child, my grandchildren. I do. But maybe they'll seek you out someday, outside of these sacred lands, and you can get to know them then.**

"**I am sending you my dream catcher, the dream catcher that Big John made for my fifteenth birthday. I don't know if you sleep anymore, but even if you don't, it'll protect you. I know you can have dreams when you're awake, nightmares even, and I bet in that strange life of yours you have many nightmares to choose from. Wear it, or carry it on you, and you'll always have a little piece of me with you, maybe it'll help you during those times. And when I am part of that spirit world myself, maybe I'll come and whisper in your ear. Maybe you'll even hear me. But if not, know I will be there. **

"**I love you, Jasper Whitlock, my big brother. I always have and always will. You try to be a good man, whatever way you can, and you love your woman and you do the right thing by others. You've always had a clean and honorable heart, and I expect that hasn't changed, even if it doesn't beat anymore. And please, live your life to the fullest, not burdened by self-hate and regrets. I have done that, I have lived ruled by my heart and conscience, not by what others thought I should do, and I will go to my death at peace with myself and the world, knowing I lived a life I could be proud of. Even if you don't die, you can face eternity knowing you can stand proud. You always have.**

"**Love, **

"_**Ginny.**_**"**

I closed my hand around the dream catcher, careful not to bend the delicate metal. It felt warm in my palm, like it was alive. I almost imagined I felt a ghostly brush of lips at my ear, almost thought I heard her voice whisper my name and laugh a little.

But who was I kidding? I was a vampire. There were things that did go bump in the night, it wasn't all fairy tales and superstition. The weird was real. Perhaps the ghost of my sister was indeed hovering over my shoulder, wishing me well, hoping I could hear her.

I turned and looked at Alice, who was regarding me with unreadable eyes. When I smiled she thawed visibly: she'd been worried about me. I could feel her anxiety melting away at the sight of my smile.

"So?"

I handed her the letter. "It certainly wasn't what I had been expecting, that's for sure."

Alice nodded and took it, scanning it quickly. When she raised her eyes to meet mine again she was smiling too. "That's wonderful, Jasper. She sounds…" Alice sighed happily. "She sounds like a fantastic person. I wish I could have met her."

I took the letter from her hands and put it carefully on the nightstand. "Yes. She was. I wish I could've known her then, as a woman. Met her husband." I growled low in my chest. "Given him a talking-to. Eloping with my sister. Getting her pregnant."

She giggled, leaning back against the pillows, pulling me with her. I lay my head against her breast and wrapped my arms around her waist, losing myself in the feel of her body against mine, the scent of her, the reality of her love for me wrapping around me like a warm blanket.

We lay like that for a long time, thinking our separate thoughts, but our bodies melded together.

I wasn't a monster, then. Was I? I'd certainly done monstrous things. I'd behaved monstrously. But that was changing now. Alice had made all the difference, as had the realization of my conscience. But Ginny had known what I was, and she didn't think I was a monster. She was happy for me. She approved of me, of Alice.

My Alice. She curled around me like my second skin, her smile sweet and secret, her fingertips tracing patterns on my stomach. Oh, my Alice.

Then I decided my wife was wearing entirely too much clothing—hey, even a robe is too much—and remedied that situation with much giggling from both parties. I loved her until the breaking of the dawn, and in her embrace I began to feel all the darkness I'd gathered into myself over the past long years beginning to vanish in the light of _her_.

***

**APOV:**

It was a beautiful day outside. The sun shone down from a clear blue sky, unobstructed by clouds. I wanted to be out in that sunshine, I wanted to run, to hunt with my lover, my husband. Perhaps to make love in the grass beneath that sun and watch his skin glistening like a million priceless diamonds. A dozen things flashed through my mind that we could be doing.

Ever since Jasper had read that letter a very subtle but very profound change seemed to be taking place within him. Things in the future were being rearranged delicately. Nothing major, but there were less "accidents" I could see happening, and more fun. He seemed…happier. Quieter in himself. More at peace. He smiled more. I hoped that meant he'd take his sister's last wishes to heart, and stop living in the past. I was ready to start making a future with him, unencumbered by the ghosts of all his guilty memories.

"Come on, lazybones. Let's get going." I shoved Jasper's shoulder playfully; he'd been staring up at the ceiling, zenlike in his calm, perhaps counting the cracks in the plaster above. At my touch he smiled and reached out to run one finger down the line of my bare right leg, setting me on fire with every centimeter, his eyes never leaving the ceiling. "Stop that! We'll never get out of this room!" I cried.

He cocked one eyebrow at me rakishly. "Who says that's a bad thing?"

"Jasper, there're a ton of things to do. We only have two years alone together. We have to make them count."

"Who says staying right here in this bed isn't making it count?"

I threw a pillow at him, which he caught and made as if to throw back at me…I ducked, but was surprised when he snagged my wrist instead, hauling me across his lap, where he proceeded to tickle me mercilessly.

"I—didn't—_see_ that! Ack! Coming!" I squealed breathlessly, trying to squirm away, but it was impossible. His clever fingers found every little place that made me jump and gasp, and he held me firmly in his lap. Goodness, he was strong! Had I been able to, I surely would have cried or perhaps peed on myself at the intensity of it all, I knew that is apparently what humans do when they're tickled too much. And tickling a vampire…well, let's just say, we're _extra_-sensitive, but most people wouldn't dare to try to pin one of us down and find out just _how_ sensitive. "_Stop!_"

He laughed and stopped, gathering me to him like a child, my head pillowed against his shoulder, curled up in his lap. I stayed there for a long time, completely relaxed, listening to the rhythm of his breathing against my ear. I felt his smile against the top of my head as he pressed his lips to my hair. I knew he was doing it, causing me to feel that way. Trying to make me all lethargic and happy as a fat cat in a warm sunbeam.

Oh, when Jasper is happy, the whole world around him is happy, the warm glow of his contentment leaching into everything like warm honey into bread. I felt like I was floating on a million bubbles of air, there in his arms, and didn't want to be anywhere else. He'd won. Again.

"I have to say, I think I'm getting better at this," he murmured into my ear, his breath stirring my hair, which of course set off a series of small strings of fireworks in various parts of my body. "Surprising you, that is. You're fallible after all, All-Seeing Alice."

I grunted irritably, trying to overcome the feelings he was pouring over me. "I never said I was infallible."

He smoothed the hair away from my forehead, pressed a kiss there. "I don't mind. You're perfect in every other way. Besides, maybe there's hope for some spontaneous moments after all?"

I turned to look up into his face, his absolutely perfect face. "Does it bother you that much? That I can…see things? Does it make you uncomfortable?"

He paused before answering, a loaded pause. "No, not really. It's all right, you have your abilities…and I have mine, after all."

I should've known something was coming. I had gotten to know that look, that tone of voice: he was thinking long and hard about something but hadn't made up his mind yet. About something big.

Jasper squinted a little, concentrating, and suddenly, the warm and glowing contentment I'd felt a moment before amplified, every tiny part of me catching fire and melting into a radiant bliss.

"Oh!" I gasped, my eyes rolling back into my head. I found it difficult to think. All my plans and ideas began to fly away, blown away by this wind, this heat. _No, I have to stay in control, I have to think…_

But who would want to _think_, when you could _feel_ like that?

Jasper chuckled wickedly. "Now _that_ was interesting." He shifted me in his arms, his lips finding the hollow at the base of my throat, and with the touch of those lips it got even worse. Or better.

I shuddered, absolutely helpless in the grips of that ecstasy.

"I've been wanting to try that for a little while now. Nice to see it works like I thought it might." His voice was velvety soft and so, so evil.

"Dirty, dirty man. Horrible, nasty, _mean_ man." I could barely move my lips.

Somehow, impossibly, the feelings got stronger, and I realized I didn't remember my own name anymore. And I didn't care.

In retrospect, I should've seen that coming. But it was something he'd been thinking about, hadn't decided on actually doing yet, so I didn't see much of anything at all. They say that romance, eroticism, is 90% mental and emotional…and boy, were they right about that.

It was building up inside me, a rising flood behind a weakening dam, but it wasn't water, it was _fire_, it was sensation, pure and unadulterated sensual joy, the flames of it licking along every part of my skin until it had spread all over, my bones melting sweetly and slowly, until I couldn't feel anything else but _this_, and I never wanted it to end…

"Oh, no, Alice, you haven't seen dirty yet. All's fair in love and war. I was good at war…Now, let's see how good I am at love, shall we?"

"Oh, no…"

"Oh, _yes_."

It just kept building, he was like a mad scientist, a magician possessed, his eyes afire as he concentrated on making me _feel_…I was dizzy, I gasped for breath that I didn't need, my fingers clawing at the bedclothes weakly as I completely lost control of myself, caught up and swept along by it…I thought I might disintegrate into a pile of ashes, eaten alive and charred up by this passion, this devastating _need_ he was creating in me, without actually _touching_ anything important. God, if he _did_ touch me, I might…

_**!!!**_

***

**JPOV:**

Now _that_ was fun.

***

**APOV:**

Ok, so he won that one. I began to really understand what it was I had on my hands, what kind of a man he was. A dirty fighter, sneaky, underhanded…

But oh, goodness. I couldn't be mad. No one could possibly be mad at _that_.

It took over a month from the date of our wedding to pry us out of that room at the Bellevue in Philadelphia. Every time I would try to get Jasper to leave for anything except to hunt, he'd get _that look_, and I'd just have to find some stable surface to sit down on, cross my legs, and try to remember my name. It never worked. He's way too good at what he does.

Thank god.

Then, one day, he looked over at me and grinned. "So, what did you have in mind?"

I blinked in confusion. He really was getting good at surprising me. I didn't see that coming, until a split-second before he spoke. "About?"

He stood up and began pulling on his clothes; I watched in amazement. "You said you had plans, things for us to do. Things outside this room." He leered at me, and I had to laugh. "I figure, I've stocked up enough of _this_," he gestured at me and then at himself, at _us_, "to let you out into public again. I don't think I'll suddenly tear off your clothes, unless you want me to, of course. I've built up a buffer, stocked in supplies, I guess you could say. But just be forewarned." He cocked a finger at me.

"Forewarned? Of what?" No one had _ever_ forewarned _me_.

Then Jasper was there before me, and I was up in his arms again, feet dangling helplessly far above the ground. Gosh, he's tall.

"Forewarned, that whatever it is you have planned for us…Just make sure you have frequent 'pit stops' scheduled. Might save you some embarrassment. Because if I don't have enough time alone with you, I might have to do _this_ in public. To remind you of what's important."

He set me on fire again. Good, good fire. I got the point.

"Pit stops," I managed weakly. "Check."

"Get dressed, Alice." He kissed me, swatted my behind, and set me down neatly on the bed. How kind of him, he must have realized my legs wouldn't be working quite yet.

I got dressed.

As I began gathering up and packing away all the things I'd accumulated for us, I had to keep shaking my head in amazement. I'd glance over at him, standing in the window, gazing out across the city, his arms crossed over his chest, the sunlight streaming in through the window setting him aglow. He was amazing. My visions hadn't prepared me for this at all. All my anticipation, all the buildup, all the anxiety and imagining, it had all been insufficient to prepare me for the reality of this man.

Everything I had imagined paled in comparison to the real him.

I was a bit in awe of having such a creature to call my own. And I was as helpless in his hands as a newborn kitten, I was _his_ creature, just as surely he was mine. Could I possibly dominate and manipulate him the way he could me? Not that I minded. Not _that_ kind of domination and manipulation. As strong as he was, he was also infinitely gentle; as deft at handling me as he was, I could handle him right back, if I wanted to.

I felt completely, totally, 100% woman in his hands, and I loved it. I felt alive. Everything shone with a warm, satisfied light.

"What's go you so happy?" He turned and smiled at me, the sun causing his eyes to glow. They were now an orangeish-amber, only a few more weeks and he could pass among the humans and not be stared at.

"You." Somehow, I felt shy. How silly.

Jasper grinned. "Good. It's the same for me."

Wanting to change the subject, because I didn't want to have to go through the trouble of getting dressed again, I unfolded a map and spread it out across the top of the dresser. "Come here," I told him. "Let's make some plans."

"What, you don't have it all planned out?" But he came and stood beside me, putting his arm around me with an unconscious familiarity that filled me with joy.

I shook my head. "Not really. I have some ideas. Where would you like to go?" I gestured to the map, which showed the whole world. "We have two years. Two years, and then we have to be in Vermont. To meet them."

Jasper pursed his lips in thought as he scanned the map. "I've never been anywhere but the U.S. and Mexico. Honestly, I don't know much about the world except what I learned when I was a kid in my lessons, and I'm sure most of that has changed since then. How about you?"

I leaned forward and tapped a place. "I've always wanted to go there."

Jasper chuckled, nodding. "Yeah, me too, I guess…I bet the hunting's good, if nothing else!"

Africa it was.

We decided to do this in style. The right way. No stowing away in the holds of filthy mail boats, no swimming an entire ocean. I wanted a nice cabin with a view of the ocean, I wanted to be able to wear decent clothes and carry baggage. So we went to a local travel agency and booked passage on an ocean liner, which was the only way to travel long distances in those years.

There would be a two-day layover in London, which immediately caught my attention: I began entertaining the idea of trying to find Alistair. I wanted to introduce him to my Jasper, and I was very interested in seeing what Jasper made of Alistair. I wondered if Jasper would be able to calm Alistair down long enough to have a civil conversation.

From London we would proceed south, where we would disembark ultimately in Capetown, South Africa. We'd stow our things in a hotel and head inland on foot: Jasper was ridiculously eager to hunt a lion or cheetah or leopard. He was convinced that a big cat such as that might provide a decent fight.

Our ship for England would leave July 1, so we had three weeks to prepare. I knew shopping was in order. After all, I hadn't bought safari wear. The possibility of a trip to Africa hadn't popped up until very recently…and I'd been otherwise occupied. I didn't think that pith helmets or mosquito netting were particularly pressing for us then, lost in my husband's embrace. Not that mosquito netting was particularly important for us, ever, actually. But those things would be expected. We'd decided to try to pass for a human couple for a while, just for the fun of it, to see what happened.

Oh, boy, was that a bad idea. But I'll get to that shortly.

Those last couple of weeks before we left flew by. We hunted constantly, ranging hundreds of miles out from Philadelphia, which we'd kept as our temporary home base; we'd move from there to New York the night before our departure. We went up into the cold green forests of the northeast, the vast expanses of pines and oaks and elms full of deer and sometimes even moose or elk, and the occasional black bear or mountain lion, as we went further north.

It was exhilarating, running with him. Just being free, unfettered, and together. We'd hold hands as we flew across the landscape, arrows shot from an invisible bow, enjoying each other's company.

We had nowhere in particular to be, nothing to do but wait for the day our ship would depart. We concentrated on each other, and on glutting ourselves as much as possible—it would be a long six days for Jasper, trapped in a boat among all those humans. I was more than a bit worried about the voyage from England to South Africa: that would be several weeks, with few ports of call along that barren south-eastern African coast. I was wondering about the possibility of being able to jump ship and swim to shore for hunting, whether we could catch up with the boat? Or perhaps we could try deep-sea hunting? I'd heard there were huge sharks to be found in those waters. A Great White might provide Jasper with a decent fight. What would shark's blood taste like, I asked myself? Probably very salty.

And I kept searching the future, looking for problems and obstacles. I was fiercely determined to not let anything or anyone ruin my time with Jasper. I knew once we joined our new family that alone time would be a precious commodity, and Jasper would probably have issues blending in with an established family, so I couldn't be sure of his mood. I treasured every golden minute of those two years I had alone with him. They have sustained me during those times when we have been apart.

One day we crossed the invisible line between the United States and Canada, into the province of Quebec. I felt something drawing me on, half-formed pictures luring me further. The Laurentian Mountains beckoned us in the distance, ancient and green, snow-capped, even in the early summer. We set out for them, crossing the Saint Laurence River like a pair of spawning salmon to emerge on the shore, dripping wet and grinning at each other.

The vision came out of nowhere, followed quickly by a scent.

"Smell that!" Jasper hissed, releasing my hand and dropping into a defensive crouch, edging in front of me. I rolled my eyes and let him: no matter how much he knew in his head I could take care of myself, probably better than he could, he always wanted to be the protector. It cost me nothing to let him play the role.

I stood completely still, allowing my eyes to slip closed as I concentrated. I felt Jasper's presence before me like a glow of heat even behind my eyelids, and suddenly I realize how much I _did_ need him in times like that, when my sight took hold of me and shook me, like a dog with a bone in its mouth.

"He won't try to hurt us. He's just curious."

Jasper grunted doubtfully, but I heard his clothes rustle a bit as he straightened up, and felt his hand in mine, pulling me close to him, into the circle of his arms. I could still hear the soft grumble in his chest: oh, my sweet protector, my lover, he was jealous of someone he'd never even met.

"Oh, stop it, silly," I whispered up at him, my eyes still closed, my mind ranging far out, trying to see more. His lips touched mine briefly.

"I won't have anyone near you, Alice. Not unless you say it's all right. And sometimes not even then." His arms tightened briefly, squeezing me so tightly it was almost painful, before relaxing. "You're _mine_."

I sighed and shook my head. "As if I'd leave you. For anyone, ever, Jasper. But thank you. I love you too."

He chuckled and suddenly I couldn't stand up, my knees going weak after a rush of white-hot lust rippled through me. "Remember, no one else can do that for you. Maybe if he's handsome, you'll remember that."

Now I opened my eyes, and I glared at him as I slapped him on the chest. Hard. "Jasper Whitlock, I waited almost thirty years, alone, for you. And even though I didn't realize you could do…_that_…I didn't want anyone else then, and I never will. Stop being like a dog marking a tree."

Then Jasper laughed, a full belly laugh, doubling over and taking me with him. I giggled and had to cling to him, my knees still weren't quite stable.

"Ho, travelers!"

The voice immediately shattered our humor. During those moments when we'd been so entranced by each other, the stranger had come closer.

Jasper turned his back to me, but his hand never left mine as he stood firmly before me, blocking me from the sight of the other vampire who we'd scented a few moments before. Jasper went stone-still, focusing all of his attention on the stranger, and I felt the backwash of the calm and peace he was sending out to the man, trying to soften the encounter, should things start go badly.

You see, vampires, immortals, are predators. Especially like cats, I think, based on what I've read. We are extremely territorial. When one vampire crosses into the territory or hunting grounds of another, there are often problems. Protocol is to find the claimant of those lands and ask permission to take prey, or to cross, but that's often difficult, given the fact that we are usually a wandering and lonesome species. It makes for a lot of fighting, if tempers aren't kept on an even keel. And when a mate is in the mix, then things can get even more heated. Jealousy is a consummate art form for our kind.

I heard his approach, just as I'd seen it a few moments before in my mind. The man stopped a few feet away, maintaining a respectful distance, waiting for us to acknowledge him. I had to kick Jasper in the shin to get him to answer the stranger.

"Ho, traveler," Jasper finally, grudgingly, replied. "Are these your lands?"

The other chuckled merrily. "This place? Oh, no. Never. Just passing through."

I stepped out from behind Jasper and smiled at the other. He started at the sight of me: I suppose Jasper had completely hidden me from view. No wonder: Jasper is 6'3", and I'm not even five feet tall.

"Oh, hello, miss!" He greeted me amicably. He was tall and rangy, built a bit like Jasper, but less bulky through the shoulders and arms. His sandy blonde hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail, and his face was open and honest, his brilliant red eyes guileless. I'd never seen a friendlier vampire. The effect was unsettling. "Didn't see you there!"

Jasper growled low in his chest, his arm coming up to push me back a bit. "Mistress. She's my wife."

The stranger's eyebrows shot up in surprise at Jasper's intensity, and he took a step back, his hands coming up defensively. "My apologies, sir. I didn't know."

I punched Jasper in the arm. "Be nice!" I hissed. "He doesn't want me! He's just being polite!"

The other laughed again. "Well, not that you're not lovely and all, madame…"

Jasper growled, his eyes narrowing. I punched him again. He relaxed a little, thank goodness, his aggression was pouring out of him and was making it difficult for me to concentrate.

I pushed his arm down and stepped entirely around Jasper, extending my hand in that universal gesture of welcome and good intent; the other cautiously took it, and we shook hands. But he did drop mine quickly and stepped back, to make sure there was a good bit of space between us.

"I'm Alice." I patted my man on the arm. "This is Jasper."

"Garrett." He tipped his hat to me, sweeping a courtly bow. "My pleasure to meet you both."

Jasper relaxed an inch more, reaching out to put his arm around my shoulder. "So, you said these aren't your lands?"

Garrett nodded. "No way I'd ever claim a piece of Canada as my own. I'm an American, through and through. I'm just passing through."

This time it was Jasper's turn to chuckle. "A patriot vampire?" I heard the Texas twang of his accent thicken in those words, and I remembered that he'd gone to war as a patriot so many years ago…but a patriot of a country within a country, a son of the Confederacy.

"Absolutely. I fought the Redcoats at Guilford Courthouse, in the Revolution, before I was turned. I was there."

Jasper relaxed, and I felt his emotions shift. He was curious. "Really?"

Garrett grinned. "Fought under General Greene himself. Got in a good shot at Cornwallis, but it hit his flag bearer instead." He reached down and pulled up the hem of his shirt, displaying a long, faint scar marring the perfect and glittering white skin of his belly. "Bayonet. Almost killed me. Crawled away to die in the woods. But the vampire found me first. Don't know why he didn't finish me off, probably there were too many others dying all around to keep his attention on me too long. All I know is that three days later I was the new me. Haven't looked back since."

I listened to him speak and was enthralled: the words were modern, but there was something about the cadence of his speech, about his accent, that made me imagine older times. I could see him in a blue coat, firing a musket, calling out for death to the British.

Jasper was enthralled. Here was another warrior; they could trade tales. I smiled to myself and rolled my eyes: men. They never noticed it when I moved away and sat down in the grass, losing interest completely in their conversation as I became lost in my own thoughts.

There was something going on, something I couldn't see yet because it was so far in the future, so blurred by so many possible decisions of others. But I could get the faintest glimpse of the outline of it, and it chilled my blood.

I'd been guided by my visions to seek out others of my kind, to meet them and let them know me, but I had no idea why in most cases. I thought of Charles and Mary, Alistair. Now Garrett. I'd known something important would happen on this trip into the Laurentian Mountains, but not what it was. Perhaps because it pertained to that far-off future I couldn't discern clearly. But it was still important.

"So, Jasper, what happened to your eyes?"

The question pulled me out of my reverie.

Jasper glanced over at me and smiled softly. His eyes almost matched mine now, and he loved that fact. "It's a matter of dietary choice, Garrett," he finally replied. "We're…well, we don't drink from humans anymore."

Garrett goggled at us in shock for a moment, his eyes seeking out mine, and I nodded agreement. Then something came to me, suddenly. "Don't worry, Garrett," I said quietly. "You'll get it later."

I felt Jasper will Garrett to accept, to go along, and was intensely grateful to my man and his gift. We made a good team. He'd realized I needed him even though I hadn't said a word.

"Oh, all right," Garrett mumbled, distracted. "Well, I'll be off then, I think."

"Goodbye, Garrett. Take care of yourself, all right?"

He nodded, then turned and loped off, the green grass whispering with his departure.

Jasper came and sat beside me, his hand finding mine and bringing it to his lips. "What was that all about?"

I shook my head. "I don't really know yet, baby. All I know is, sometime in the future, we'll need him. And he'll help us. I can't see much else than that." It was infuriating, not being able to see. I understood why not: I had a feeling that it would be many, many years before what I was sensing would happen, and there were too many variables clouding my view. But it _would_ happen.

He pulled me back against his chest, and I let him, gladly. His arms wound around my waist, my head falling back against his shoulder. "Well then, I suppose it was worth having him paw you over with his eyes."

I punched him again. "Whatever."

Jasper pulled back from me and looked down into my eyes, his red-gold gaze disturbingly intense. I felt my body respond to that intensity, my breath coming a bit faster, my skin longing for his touch.

"You don't know, Alice. I felt what he was feeling. I should have killed him where he stood."

"Oh, Jasper. You need to get past this." I sighed and turned to look at him, wrapping my legs around his waist and taking his face between my palms. "Sweetheart, it doesn't matter if a man thinks I'm pretty or anything like that. I don't care. I never cared. I could've had my choice of lovers, if I'd wanted them, Jasper."

He stiffened, waiting. I felt his dread as if it were my own.

"But I never did, baby. I only wanted you. I will only want you. Forever."

***

**JPOV:**

I traded war stories for a while with Garrett. He'd never fought in any battle except that one, the one in which he ostensibly died…But we were kindred spirits of a sort, I suppose, both of us young men who were plucked in the prime of our lives and thrust, unwilling and unwitting, into bizarre immortality. And we'd both been seized by the madness of patriotism, whether it was misguided or not, and we'd both gone to fight and die for it…only to die in a very different way.

I took emotional stock of him, and was surprised at his innocence and openness. I'd never met an immortal so ingenuous and willing to listen. If it weren't for his furtive glances at my Alice, the occasional surges of desire I felt from him for her, I would have liked him completely, and been glad to call him my friend.

But no, Alice was mine. I couldn't bear any trespasses on that sacred ground. So I held him at arm's length, I laughed with him, I reassured him with my ability, and I sent him on his way all in one piece, because I knew Alice saw something regarding him, and I trusted my Alice.

I must explain something here: please, do not think me some Neanderthal caveman, some chauvinist woman-hater who only view the female sex as their property…When I say "my Alice" I am referring to her as something so completely part of me, I might as well say "my skin." When she first turned around on that stool in that diner and reached out to take my hand, I was lost forever. I was hers, she was mine. I didn't know when it happened, and it didn't matter. It _was_.

We'd only been together less than four months by that time, but I already knew if I ever lost her I'd lose myself. No question about it. The thought of even a moment when I wasn't Alice's, and she wasn't mine, was impossible. I know I was, and still am, jealous. But it's not because I consider her property, or less than me: she is so intensely and completely part of me that the concept of a minute without her was intolerable, she is a treasure. We might separate for a while, but the longer we are apart, the more painful it is.

It was like she had crawled into the very center of my being and made it her home. As if she'd attached tendrils to every tiny piece of myselfe that connected her to me. I didn't mind. I loved it. I craved more. I opened myself wide and asked for more. That ragged emptiness I'd felt with Maria, when I was with Mary and Peter, when I was on my own, it was gone, and I knew now that the shape of it had been of this woman, my Alice. Only her.

I knew she was virtuous. I knew she was only mine. But I still hated any man's eyes on her. I had to bridle my instincts, my possessiveness. I had to remind myself of how thoroughly she'd beaten Maria, that she was entirely capable of defending herself. She didn't _need_ me. She _wanted_ me.

"I will only want you. Forever." Her words wrapped around me, soft and warm and comforting.

"Alice, I'm sorry if I'm jealous," I finally whispered into her hair. I held her against me, so small and warm and perfect, and wished we never had to move from that spot forever. "I…I love you. So very much."

I felt her laughter. "Silly man. I love you too." She twisted and pressed her lips against mine for a moment. "As if I would ever look at that Garrett for even a moment."

The memory of him made my jealousy awaken. "I'd kill him. If he dared."

"He wouldn't. You're too fierce."

I nodded, I knew it already. Call it conceit if you will, but I knew what I was and wasn't good at, and I knew I was good in a fight. God knows, I bore enough scars to prove it: if I wasn't good, I wouldn't still be around to show the scars.

"But I wouldn't have needed you, if he'd threatened me. You must know that."

Yes, I knew it. And I knew it should bother the "manly" part of me that she didn't need my protection. But, strangely, it made me proud instead. She was self-sufficient and strong and entirely capable, but she'd chosen to bring me into her life, to make room for me, for whatever reason.

"Don't worry, Jasper. You'll have plenty of occasions to show me how strong and fierce you are. But I don't need them to know that." She snuggled against me and I felt the warm glow of her love. "I know what I have. I waited forever for it. And I'm going to have it forever."

Good enough for me.

***

**Author's Note:**

For those of you who haven't read it already, the references to Jasper's little sister Ginny correspond to another story of mine, entitled Wind Whispers. If you're interested in reading it, here are the links:

**The Twilight Saga: **.com/group/fanfiction/forum/topics/wind-whispers-the-story-of

**Fanfiction: **.net/s/5357523/1/Wind_Whispers_Virginias_Tale

**Freedom Fan Fiction Writers: **.com/group/adultfanfiction/forum/topics/wind-whispers-the-story-of


	14. Chapter 14: Speed Bumps and Blind Spots

**Chapter 14: Blind Spots and Speed Bumps**

**APOV:**

It was with a great deal of regret that we packed up our things and moved out of that cozy little suite at the hotel. Those rooms had, over the course of those first months of our love and life together, been our refuge, our love nest, something like a home. A real home, not a solitary place to hang my hat, as my apartment in New York had been, or like my room with the Bruyere's in Paris. And definitely not like the house Jasper had shared with _that woman_ for all those years. He didn't need to say it, I saw it in his eyes when I mentioned my feelings: that house he'd lived in with Maria hadn't been a home.

"My home is wherever you are," he whispered into my hair, wrapping his arms around me.

I closed the door behind us, closing the door on that particularly heavenly part of our lives. It was a bit sad, yes, but I knew many more years beckoned us, and many of those would be heavenly as well.

The bellhop had already taken our bags down and loaded them into the trunk of the waiting taxi. Jasper, holding his breath the entire time, poor thing, tipped the boy and sent him on his way, then held the door open for me. I slipped in and watched the hotel fall into the distance behind us. I'd liked Philadelphia.

"Regrets?"

I smiled up at him. "Never."

"Good. I'd hate to have to make you… _cheer up_. Right here in this taxi. I can't bear it when you're sad." He gave me a leer from beneath the brim of the fedora he'd put on, which cast his face into shadow. It was a cloudy day, but one never knew when the sun might peep through and expose us for what we were.

"Wicked man," I hissed, crossing my legs. "You wouldn't."

He raised his eyebrows. "Wouldn't I?" And there it was, _that tingle_ again. "Don't ever tell me I won't or can't do something, Alice, or I might just have to surprise you. I'm a very determined man."

I gasped and tried to control myself. "Stop! All right!" I saw the cabbie glance at us with wide eyes in the rearview mirror; I punched Jasper, hard, on the leg. "Seriously!" I hissed. I knew that the poor man must be feeling the overflow of what Jasper was doing, and that wasn't good. Probably downright disturbing for the guy.

Jasper laughed, and the feeling subsided into a warm glow of contentment. "Yes, ma'am." His show of meekness was as false as a three-dollar bill, but at least he'd stopped doing _that_.

The cab driver dropped us off at the train station, where we transferred our bags and boarded our particular train. I made sure I gave the cabbie a good tip for his trouble. Then we were on our way to New York, and my excitement was building at the things I knew were coming.

Africa! I remembered the pictures I'd seen, and the things I'd glimpsed of the future. The rolling savannahs, the animals, the completely different culture. I was ready for it.

But something was strange, something I'd been trying to figure out for several days. There was a big hole in the future. And it was freaking me out, as they say nowadays.

I could see things leading up to a certain point. And then I could see things after, although they were more shaky, less certain. More paths leading off in various directions. But at a certain point everything just…vanished. It was like someone or something had reached into my visions and cut a neat hole in them, excising them from what I called my "future memory," or my reservoir of things that I'd seen that hadn't happened yet. And besides that big empty place, there were a few others, smaller, floating through my visions like blind spots.

It was similar to the vague blindness I'd experienced in South Dakota, but more pronounced, and more specific. Like someone didn't want me to know something during that certain time period. Like they knew I could see the future and had chosen to take those future memories from me.

I shook my head irritably, drawing Jasper's questioning gaze. He must have been feeling my confusion and frustration, because then a sense of peace began to soothe me. I was both grateful for and perturbed by it: I disliked feeling so thwarted and unknowing, but I also disliked being manipulated, regardless of his intentions.

"What's going on, Alice?" He slipped his hand into mine, reminding me silently of our promise to each other, to not keep secrets or lie. He squeezed my fingers gently, and I felt his love for me, encouraging me to be honest.

I sighed. He is impossible to argue with, really, and very difficult to deny. So I just gave up on trying to. I explained my quandary to him, tensing myself for the inevitable reaction.

As I expected, he behaved just as I'd thought. As impossible and undeniable as he is, he's also terribly predictable in certain things.

"We shouldn't go then, Alice. If you think something strange is happening, someone is perhaps manipulating your visions…" His hand tightened around mine, painfully, but I didn't complain. "I won't put you in danger."

I shook my head and patted his cheek, trying to make him feel my confidence. "No, baby, I see futures leading away from that…that blank period. None of the paths leading up to that emptiness end there. They all go on. We're not in any danger. It's just…strange." I snorted. "And also very embarrassing. I feel like I'm being played with."

His eyes widened. "Do you think the Volturi have something to do with this? They have followers with powerful gifts, after all—"

"No. Not at all. I have the sense that the Volturi has nothing to do with this." And I did. I don't know how I knew it, but I knew it.

Jasper nodded, his eyes faraway as he thought, then he slipped into the vampiric stillness that comes so naturally when we're upset. I could feel his fear and anticipation, his resolution to be prepared. And once again, I regretted, ever so slightly, my promise to be honest with him. I hadn't done anything but make him lose much of his joy at the idea of the trip by telling him.

The countryside slid by in a blur, and we sat in silence as the train ate up the miles, each of us lost in our own thoughts.

***

**JPOV:**

We reached New York in a little over an hour, and thankfully it was completely overcast, the day coming to an end. At least I didn't have to think about the sunlight. I had enough on my mind already, enough going on in my body, without having to think about that.

It's frustrating sometimes, how easy Alice makes it look, to be in the middle of all those humans. Now, I do have an advantage in being able to assess her emotional state, so I know what goes on beneath that unperturbed and lovely surface: I know the scent of them tantalizes her, I know it's hard for her to stay strong. But her conflict to "be good" versus her body's automatic desires is far less than mine. She's gotten very, very good at squashing down the urges to rip and tear and drink deeply of human blood. The only one I've ever met who is better than her is Carlisle…and he makes it look like child's play to deny his very self. Not a good comparison to me.

You see, my thirst is great. No greater than anyone else's, of course, but any immortal's thirst is powerful indeed. But my discipline isn't great, and therein lies the problem.

I'd lived for almost a century and hadn't exercised anything resembling control over my thirst, unless you count letting another feed before me as control. I'd always let the newborns under my charge drink first, out of courtesy and respect for their overwhelming new thirst. But other than that, no. Maria had always been indulgent, and careless, truthfully. She'd plied us with humans as rewards for pleasing her. There was always a source of blood somewhere close by at the first twinge of thirst.

And then, when I was with Peter and Charlotte, we'd hunted when we wanted, and that was frequently. I enjoy the hunt and the kill, I'm ashamed to say, despite the horrible consequences those things wreak on my conscience. After reading and studying psychology and physiology and philosophy, I have realized that it is akin to an addiction, something like the drug heroin. When caught up in the raging lust for blood, I don't care…but afterwards, in the grips of the guilt and remorse…

Being in Penn Station, amid all those humans, was agony.

They streamed around us like a delicious river, each one tempting in their own way, their blood calling to me as they blithely walked past, their death in waiting. They had no idea who or what I was. They thought me to be just some tall man in a fedora hat, escorting his lovely little wife through the crowd, heading to whatever destination. They didn't realize that I was their end, walking on two feet.

I had to hold my breath and keep my eyes fixed on the exit. I hurried Alice along, coming dangerously close to moving at an inhuman speed in my haste to get out of that closed-in space and out into the open air.

Alice looked up at me, her golden eyes sad. "Baby, I'm sorry…" she whispered, biting her lip. "This is hard for you, isn't it?"

I nodded curtly and kept heading for the exit. She didn't complain about me bustling her along. Her love radiating out and soaking into me like sunshine helped: I focused on it until we'd gotten our things stowed into the back of a taxi and had slid away from the curb. Then I rolled down the window and hung my head halfway out, letting the wind wash away the lingering, burning scent of all that blood.

I had so much to learn, so far to go. It was humiliating. I'd always been the one who was good at everything I set my hand to right away. It was so hard to have to struggle with myself like this, to be the slave of my body. When I'd been a weak and fragile human, I remembered vaguely, I'd prided myself on my discipline. But now, when I had this glorious, strong immortal body, I was weak _inside_.

"You need to hunt." Alice's words weren't a question, they were a statement. "Let's get our things to the hotel and then we'll go. I don't know where yet, but we'll go."

I nodded, clenching my jaw. The cab driver smelled good, too. Everyone smelled good. My throat burned, despite all those hunting trips Alice and I had made during the weeks leading up to this day. I cursed myself.

Once we'd checked into our room, Alice took me by the hand and led me out onto the street again. Night had fallen and the streets weren't as crowded, and there was a breeze blowing, which helped. But I could still sense them all around me, I could still smell them, still _feel_ them. New York City is a beehive, a pulsing node of humanity, the people stacked on top of one another in high rise buildings.

"Come on," Alice whispered, standing up on tiptoe to take my face in her hands. "I love you. Let's go." Then she kissed me, and I could lose myself momentarily in her again.

We set off at a walk. I didn't trust myself in enclosed spaces, so trains or taxis were out of the question. I held my breath and let her lead me. She seemed to know where she was going. Of course she did, I thought randomly. She lived here for five years!

After a time, she giggled and stopped, pointing ahead. "There you go, sweetie. Buffet time. Pick your poison."

"_Central Park Zoo_" read the sign she pointed to.

I sighed. "Seriously, Alice. Really? The _zoo_?"

She giggled again, throwing her arms around my waist. "Seriously. I don't know of any other place to take you, unless we go out into the countryside. Not many deer in New York City…except for here. And I don't know if you'd make it out of the city itself without a problem. Maybe you can have a snack here…then we'll head outside the city and you can finish the meal."

The idea of killing a caged animal just felt wrong. But I knew she was right. I couldn't wait much longer. And in a zoo there are usually predators, whose blood I knew would be much more satisfying than the blood of the deer and such we'd been taking. So I swallowed my pride and my discomfort, and I let her lead me over the wall and into the zoo, which was closed. I could smell the lions and tigers in the distance and felt a guilty thrill of anticipation.

It was too easy, and entirely dishonorable, but at least it took the edge off that burning, ragged desire for blood. I won't even dignify that singularly embarrassing episode by describing it.

But that lion was a treat indeed.

***

**APOV:**

My poor baby.

I'd never seen someone trying so hard and failing so nobly. I could feel his discomfort and his shame radiating out from him, and even though I knew it was directly contrary to his odd hunter's code of honor, I thought the zoo was the best and safest thing.

Poor lion, though, too. He didn't even see it coming.

We were strolling along, arm in arm, laughing, after leaving the zoo. Jasper was in much better shape, his eyes warm and loving again, his face no longer tense and cold with his effort to restrain himself. Everything was lovely. The night was warm and the city murmured around us like a contented child.

Then, of course, I saw what was going to happen.

I stopped suddenly, tugging on his arm, trying to stop him. But it was too late. Accidents happen suddenly, there's no predicting them. I only had about thirty seconds of warning, but I still felt like a failure for not seeing it sooner.

The taxi came out of nowhere, charging through the red light without pausing, his brakes gone. We had barely avoided stepping off the curb and into its path. Thank goodness for that, at least. But the taxi plowed into a car crossing the intersection, and the sounds of shattering glass and the scream of tearing metal filled the air. And then, of course, came the screams.

The taxi driver, who of course hadn't been wearing a seat belt (they weren't required back then), had been thrown through the windshield, and there he lay, a few feet before us, torn and bleeding, on the pavement, his breath bubbling sickly in his destroyed chest. He was dying.

_Bleeding._

It was instantaneous. Jasper had no option: his body shifted into auto-pilot mode and left his mind and his will behind. The scent of that blood hit me squarely in the face, too, hot and sweet and oh, so tempting! But I stopped, accustomed to holding myself in check. But he didn't. He couldn't. My poor man, he had no choice.

In less than a second he was on the man, his mouth at the human's throat, and he was drinking, his expression rapturous and completely disconnected. All he knew was the blood. He didn't even see or hear me there, trying to pull him away, crying out to him. He was lost in the blood.

I could hear someone else screaming, hear footsteps pounding the pavement as they closed in on us. The seconds were slipping by, bleeding by, like the man's blood streaming out onto the pavement.

"Jasper!" I screamed, grabbing him by the arm. "Please, baby, stop! Stop!"

For an instant, he didn't know me. His eyes shifted to mine, his bloodstained lips curling back from his glistening teeth in a threatening growl, and for the second time I feared him. He could kill me, if I wasn't careful. He wouldn't know me…until it was too late. He was so much stronger than me.

But I was faster.

I made a split-second decision, knowing time was running out. Soon the humans would realize what was going on; I thanked the darkness for giving us those precious moments of anonymity. But I had to do something, quickly.

So I reached out and took my husband by the arms, and I pulled him away. I used the element of surprise and tore him away, dragging him bodily into the shadows of an alley. His fingers clawed at me for a moment, then fell limp as more and more distance grew between him and the corpse of the man he had been drinking from.

I dropped him to the alley floor and backed away, trying to block the street. If he charged me, I'd do everything I could to keep him from going back. Now it wasn't about sticking to our "diet." It was about avoiding problems with the humans. I could hear sirens wailing in the distance, drawing closer. I already had enough to think about without adding the Volturi into the mix.

Jasper lay there for a moment, still as a statue. Then he sat up and looked at me, and my heart leapt up into my throat at his expression, which flickered like a guttering candle from one emotion to the next.

Shame. Humiliation. Desire. Hunger. Rage. Frustration. Embarrassment.

He closed his eyes and leaned forward to rest his forehead against his knees, his hands covering his face. He was trembling with the intensity of his remorse. "Oh….oh, my god…Alice…"

And I had to go to him. My poor man. I could feel the self-hatred pouring out of him like poison. I wrapped my arms around him and I held him to me, rocking gently like he was a child, murmuring comforting nonsense into his hair.

"I'm sorry…"

"Shh." I covered his mouth with my hand. "Shut up, Jasper. We both knew this would happen. Mistakes will happen. Just shut up and learn from it. And I love you. I love you."

I could smell the blood on him, and it made my own throat ache painfully. It had been so long since I'd tasted human blood; there was really no substitute for it. But no, I'd made my choice, and I wouldn't deviate from it. I tamped down the urge to go out and kill and drink and concentrated on my husband, my Jasper, who clung to me like I was his only anchor to sanity. I'd waited for him for so long, and now here he was, flaws and all, and I had to be there for him.

"Come on, now. Let's go back to the room. You need a bath and clean clothes, at least."

He nodded and let me lead him, skulking in the shadows, avoiding eyes.

Later, I sat behind him in the tub and scrubbed his back. Yes, I know it's silly, we don't need to scrub like that, but it's still nice. Our bodies are so very sensitive, after all. He purred like a contented cat and leaned back against me, the steamy air heavy with the fragrant oils I'd poured into the water in an attempt to drive the agonizing scent of blood from his nostrils.

"Alice, I don't know if I can do this."

His words fell like lead, and I didn't know what to do with them.

I contemplated the future in the face of this statement. There weren't too many options.

If he decided to give up the animal blood, there was no future with the Cullens. That path disappeared completely after that decision. And my own self-control would end, too, I saw, in the face of being confronted again and again with Jasper's feeding. And then…then, there was an excellent chance that we'd part. He'd be wracked with guilt at dragging me back into monstrosity with him; I'd blame him, deep down inside, for it. It'd poison our love. Taint it.

I'd lose him.

He'd tear himself away from me and go wandering again, sunk into his misery and guilt, rejecting me because he didn't want to hurt me any more. He'd grow to truly hate himself, a wandering misanthrope who would make Alistair seem positively cheerful and welcoming.

And me? I'd be left without my compass, without my True North. I'd wander aimlessly, and eventually lose myself in my own misery, too.

No.

"Jasper." I slid out from behind him, sitting in his lap in the warm water, and turned his face to mine, holding his gaze. "Stop it."

He closed his eyes and sighed, and it was close to a sob. "But…but Alice…"

"Shut up. You can do this. If you don't, we're done. Finished." I stopped and contemplated what to do for a moment, then made the cold decision that would save us both. I pulled away from him, out of the bath and away from him. "It'll destroy us both."

His eyes widened, and I felt his horror. He reached out to me, and I backed away, even though everything in me screamed in protest at denying him. "Alice…no…"

Grimly, I shook my head. "Yes, Jasper. _No_. No more _us._"

And I reached down and pulled my wedding ring off. That simple golden circle, that meant so much to us both. I tugged it off my finger and set it down on the bathroom counter.

Jasper closed his eyes and slumped forward. I felt his pain like my own, shredding me inside and out. My soul felt like it was bleeding. His shoulders hitched in a tearless sob, the bathroom was a morass of self-hatred and misery that flowed out from him in a dirty river.

"Jasper, you don't have to be perfect. You'll make mistakes. You'll be weak sometimes. But, regardless of any of that, you must never lose sight of your goal. If you question it and say you're too weak…well, then, you're not the man I thought I knew. You can't do it."

_Oh, cold and heartless bitch!_ I shrank from my own words.

But it worked.

His head snapped up and he met my eyes steadily. They were redder than before. I felt his resolve firm, just as I felt other things change…

Then he was in front of me, dripping wet, and he picked me up and crushed me to him. His lips were against my ear.

"I'm everything you ever thought, and more, Alice." He pressed me back against the wall, and I wrapped my legs around his waist, completely helpless against him. "I told you…never tell me what I can't or won't do."

And his lips were on mine, and he was everywhere all at once, his urgency and need cascading over me, combining with mine until I thought I'd explode from the intensity.

He took me then, against the bathroom wall, and I didn't care. He was back, he was in control, and he was mine.

***

**JPOV:**

I didn't know what to do with myself over the next couple of days.

I'd look at myself in the mirror, or catch a glimpse of my face in the reflection of a window, and I'd see the change that those few, scalding mouthfuls of human blood had made in them. So I tried to avoid looking at myself as much as possible.

And looking at Alice hurt. I knew she didn't hold what I'd done against me, I could feel that it was the exact opposite: she loved me determinedly, despite my flaws, and was doing everything she could to distract me from my moodiness and show me how much she cared. What hurt was knowing how I'd failed her, and failed myself, with my weakness, and how I'd come so close to losing her.

The day after my "little slip-up" as Alice had begun calling it, we were to board the ocean liner, which would take us to England. We took a cab to the docks and, once again, I had to enter a veritable sea of humanity as we made our way toward the gangplank to board. Alice kept her hand firmly in mine, a wide smile plastered across her face, and I could feel her "broadcasting" her encouragement and reassurance at me, so strong it was almost audible words: be calm, you're fine, everything's ok, relax! I didn't breathe the entire time. She tugged me briskly through the crowd and presented our tickets to the agent, who looked us over with bored eyes and directed us up onto the ship, then waved the next ones in line forward.

I was frankly distressed by the prospect of being on the ship, among so many humans, out in the middle of the gigantic ocean. I wasn't thirsty, really, although the smell of human blood always set my throat to roasting, but just the concept of so many people in one small place, floating in the sea…

"It's like a big can of…of sardines!" I remarked to Alice, staring over the edge of the lido deck and down onto the heads of several other passengers, who were all smiling and waving excitedly to their loved ones on the pier below. "Neatly packaged! And concentrated!"

She rolled her eyes and punched me in the arm. I was having to get used to that: she hit hard. It struck me as a bit unfair, that she did that, knowing very well I'd never hit her back. But I had my own weapons. All I had to do was waggle my eyebrows at her and give her a certain smile…and she'd behave again. At least in public.

"Just drop it, Jasper. You'll be fine. We only have four days on this ship, then two days in England. The long part will be the trip south, around Spain and then the coast of Africa. We won't make many stops. Ten days to South Africa." She frowned. "But we'll be fairly close to land the entire time. We can maybe jump overboard and go ashore to look for something, then just run and catch the boat again. It's not going to be moving so fast we couldn't catch it again, I think."

"Hmmm." Ten days. I thought I could do it. Maybe only one mid-trip feeding jaunt would be needed, if anything. But I knew better than to push myself, after my "little slip-up." I had to be very careful. "We'll see what happens." I put my arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. "I'll be fine as long as we're together."

Alice giggled and hugged me. "This'll be fun, Jasper. Believe me. We're going to have a blast."

And she was right. For the most part. There were a couple of instances where we very definitely did _not_ have a good time. But by and large, our African odyssey was a hit.

The four days crossing the Atlantic passed easily enough. During the day we kept to our cabin, which was nice enough, despite being rather small. We had things to do to entertain ourselves. And when we weren't doing _those_ things we would read or talk. At night we might go out onto the deck, which wasn't nearly as crowded after sunset, and we'd take in the fresh air and the vastness of the Atlantic spread out around us. I discovered that I actually liked the sea, once I had been properly acquainted with her. But the main thing we did on that trip was deal with Alice's latest project: me.

Alice had taken it into her head to educate me, and I had decided to let her. I had enjoyed learning as a kid, although never as much as Ginny had, but my education had been cut short when I left home to join the Army. Since then I'd done quite a bit of independent study, I read anything I could get my hands on, sometimes breaking into libraries or bookstores to spend a night among the stacks, but most of that was fiction or military history, things I naturally enjoyed. I had gotten nowhere near a mathematics or grammar textbook in almost a hundred years. But she was determined.

"We have to get you up to a certain level, Jasper. You're going to be attending high school several times, of course, but you need to at least be up to the sophomore level as far as the basics." She gave me a wry little smile. "No way you'd pass for a freshman. Too tall. And _way_ too sexy." She winked.

The terms threw me. Sophomore? Freshman? I'd never been to a school, remember? And even if I had, those terms weren't used back in the mid-1800's, where generally everyone of different ages were all in the same room.

Alice had educated herself relentlessly, trying to do something to make up for the hole that was her past, cramming herself with information. She'd gotten herself into university classes in Paris and passed them with flying colors. And now she wanted the same for me. Apparently, once we met up with these Cullen people we'd have to pass as human teenagers wherever we went, and that would often mean going to school, since by then truancy wasn't accepted. I didn't relish the idea: more mingling with multitudes of tasty-smelling humans, in a confined and structured environment. Fun.

But the idea of learning itself was all right, so I buckled down. I wasn't illiterate to start out with, by any means, and since my immortal brain is much more adept than any human's I learn very quickly. By the time we got to London I'd risen to the standard she approved of in the basic subjects. I actually discovered, to my surprise, that I really enjoyed higher mathematics and philosophy, and decided I'd study those subjects more intensely later.

Then, London hove into view, a dark blot on the horizon on the morning of the fifth day, and the captain broadcast over the loudspeaker that we'd be docking in an hour. "More school later," she said, closing the anatomy textbook she'd been teaching me from.

"And can I be a bad boy and make the teacher spank me with the ruler?" I couldn't resist it. She was just so unimaginably cute, perched on the dresser with a book, lecturing at me so seriously, her little legs swinging enthusiastically.

"Jasper!" She threw the book at me and hopped down, but she smiled winsomely. "Maybe. If you're lucky." She considered, and waggled her own eyebrows at me. "And very, very bad."

"Done." I kissed her and tried to convince her to do more, but she was on a mission. We got our things packed up quickly and were ready when the "all ashore!" was broadcast. Wisely, we chose to hang back and let as many of the other passengers debark before us: I didn't want someone to get a hangnail or stub their toe on the gangplank and end up as my next "little slip-up."

As Alice flagged down a taxi once we'd managed to set foot on solid ground again, I held my breath and looked around. London was busy, looked old, and the people seemed to talk really strangely. I'd never heard an English accent before, so they struck me as funny. "Come on, babe," Alice hissed, pulling me into the car. I chuckled and tried to remind myself to stop acting like a tourist.

"I'd hoped we could find Alistair, but I don't think it's going to happen," she pouted, her eyes faraway, and I knew she was scanning the days ahead. "Damn him and his standoffishness. I'd wanted to introduce you."

I took a second to remember who Alistair was from her abbreviated life history she'd given me on the day of our first meeting. We'd discussed other aspects of her life before me in detail, but not much about Alistair. "Why do you want me to meet him so badly?"

Alice sighed. "He doesn't have many friends, and he doesn't want many…but he's Carlisle's friend, and I _think_ he's mine, too." She patted my knee. "And I just wanted him to meet you in the flesh. I told him about you, after all."

I nodded vaguely, but then my eyes were drawn to the unmistakable signs outside of how London had been devastated by the war a few years before. There were still many buildings left in ruins, although they were being rebuilt, the rubble hauled away. The whole city vibrated with energy, as the Britons tried to put their world back together again. It had been a scarce four years since the war ended, but they were working like ants to repair the damage.

"So, how long were you with Alistair, here? During the bombings?"

She shot me a sidelong look, a tiny smile quirking one corner of her mouth. "Why, jealous much?"

"Well, no…"

"Less than a month. And it was awful here. You've never seen anything like it, I'm sure."

I blinked. I'd been at Shiloh, had seen some of the grisliest and most harrowing things a man could see.

"Oh, no, I'm talking about the _bombs_, Jasper!" She pointed toward the eastern horizon. "During bombing runs the skies would be filled with planes for hours, and the night would be as bright as day with the fires and explosions."

I tried to envision the bombing and failed. I'd never even been in an aircraft or seen a bomb by that time, so I earmarked the subject for later study. "And, so, what were you doing here…with Alistair?" I teased.

"Oh, you!" She swatted me gently. "He taught me how to fight, silly." She giggled. "That's how we could be so open about practicing. So much noise and damage, it covered up all the commotion we caused with our sparring."

That piqued my interest. So he was a fighter? I asked her that, and she sighed ruefully.

"Well, yes and no…he knows _how_ but he generally tends to run the other way from a fight."

Ah. A coward. The fellow slipped a few notches in my estimation.

We checked into our hotel, then waited for night to descend to leave again. I needed to feed before we left London to begin the ten-day leg of our journey to South Africa.

Alice led me out of the city into the countryside, where we found a few deer to slake our thirst. She dragged me to Salisbury Plain, where she showed me Stonehenge. I'd read about it as a child, but I wondered at those ancient, weathered stones and the history and mysticism that radiated from them in an almost visible haze. We sat and held hands and watched the sun come up over the monument, blazing gold against a backdrop of lavender and rose, catching our skin and turning us both into jeweled statues. I worried about the return trip to London, although it would be a cloudy day, Alice told me confidently. I didn't want some English farmer thinking he'd glimpsed a pair of faeries or something drifting along through the rolling hills.

True to what Alice had told me, it began raining shortly after sunrise. We returned to the city and holed up in our hotel room to pass the next day. Alice had apparently given up on trying to find Alistair, and decided to concentrate on me. And I, of course, was quite content with that.

When we boarded the second ship to head for Africa, I was excited again. I'd not forgotten my "little slip-up" of course, but I'd put it behind me, as Alice had asked me to try to do, and I was looking forward to an adventure. I tried not to think about the hole in Alice's visions, also at her request, but it was always there, waiting to be thought about, worried about. I don't like uncertainty.

And Alice definitely didn't like it.

***

**APOV:**

Ten days on a boat with Jasper. Ten days trapped inside a small cabin by the brilliant July sunshine, only being able to venture out at nightfall, which seemed to come later and later the further south we pushed.

It could've been worse.

Actually, it was a lot of fun.

He'd taken to my desire to "school him," as he put it, with admirable ease, and had proven to be an excellent student, with an able and quick mind and surprisingly subtle and powerful insight. I'd laid in another stock of books while in London, leaving behind the high-school stuff and graduating to more theoretical material. He was particularly interested in philosophy, which surprised me a little: he'd always seemed to me to be the type who was more drawn to the physical things of life (and I didn't mind!). But it turned out I had linked myself forever with something of a philosopher, devouring Socrates and Sun Tzu and Jung and Machiavelli and Nietzsche and others with a voracious appetite. I also didn't mind that, once I'd come to terms with it. As long as he didn't wax philosophical in bed.

The ship made its way around the coast of Spain and then began the long trek south, hugging the coast of Africa and steaming full-speed. Piracy wasn't unheard-of in those days. Jasper and I discussed trying a hunting trip, but we both decided against it. He was sure he could probably wait until we docked in Cape Town.

I wish he hadn't. But then again, if what _did_ happen _hadn't_ happened, we would have missed a great adventure.

I hadn't forgotten about the strange hole in my future memory; in fact, it bothered me more and more as time passed, because we were drawing closer to it, pulled along by the passing minutes like helpless ships into a maelstrom. That strange blankness was disconcerting, and it wasn't helped by something that happened during the trip.

Every night we would creep out of our cabin, long after everyone else was asleep, and we would go to the most forward deck, to the very prow of the ship, and sit there on the railing together, taking in the night.

It didn't bother us that we were hundreds of feet above the Atlantic, plowing through the deep water at over fifty miles per hour. Something about being immortal takes the thrill out of perching on a tiny rail so high up; I remembered Mary atop the Golden Gate Bridge and had to chuckle. But even if I'd been afraid of heights, it wouldn't have mattered: I was in Jasper's arms, we were together.

One night, that strange night, the ocean spread below us like a glittering carpet of black diamonds, the waves throwing salty spray up into our faces every now and then. The wind was warm and rich with the sea and the land, just barely visible to the east, with the scents of the dense vegetation and the fertile red earth, exotic flowers and fruits, and just a general tang of mystery that was alluring on the tongue when one inhaled.

That night, six days into the voyage, I realized that we were being watched.

Jasper and I were in our normal spot, and he was doing his best to keep my mind off of anything but him…and succeeding quite well, might I add. He had me in his lap, his hands up my shirt, and I was about to suggest finding a more stable and horizontal surface when, suddenly, I felt the eyes on me.

And I hadn't known it was coming.

I froze, and I think Jasper must have felt it at the same time, because he froze too, his hands stopping their delicious activities inside my blouse, his eyes going wide and then narrowing immediately in suspicion. Quick as a blink we were off the rail, and he had me backed against the wall of the bulkhead, covering me with his body as he scanned everything around us, his body tense as a plucked guitar string.

Someone was watching us from the night. I felt their presence as keenly as I felt Jasper's, felt their gaze traveling over our bodies. I almost thought I smelled something, a familiarly sweet scent, like one of our kind, carried by the wind.

But there was no one there. Just the wind whispering around us, the murmuring of the waves below. No other sound, and I strained to see ahead, to find out where whoever it was that were watching us might be, if they might make themselves known.

Then, just as suddenly as it had come, the sensation disappeared, and we knew we were alone again.

"Damn!" Jasper hissed, relaxing just a tiny bit, his hand coming back to find mine. "What was that?"

I was trembling. I wasn't used to not knowing when things were going to happen, to being caught off guard…at least not by anyone but Jasper. But I knew someone had been there, watching us, just like I knew someone had done something to my ability to see the future. I didn't know how I knew, but I did.

"Let's go back inside, Alice." He took my hand to lead me back inside, and for once I didn't bother to protest.

We didn't go back up on deck until we docked in Cape Town, four days later.

The porters got our luggage quickly into a taxi, and we slid away through the thronging, noisy mass of people at the docks; I glanced uneasily over at Jasper, whose face was white and frozen with tension as he battled valiantly with his thirst: the restrained and well-clothed crowds of London and New York had been nothing compared to the raw sea of humanity that had surrounded us on the docks. The heat seemed to amplify the scent of blood, and the press of the sheer numbers of people and their noise was overwhelming. Even I was having a hard time reining in the burning ache in my throat.

The colors and scents of Africa were so much more vivid, the sounds so much wilder and strange. The people pressed together, shouting and laughing as they sold their wares and called to each other, or greeted their loved ones disembarking with us, their dark, rich coloring a shock to my eyes after so long only seeing pale skin. The heat was impossible, although we weren't bothered by it, and the red dirt of the ground left a haze in the air that rested on anything if it remained still long enough. The harbor was ringed by jagged mountains that reflected in the brilliant blue water, and the wind carried the scents of the interior to us, wild and foreign. The streets were clogged with people afoot and on bicycle, children running wild, livestock, and old cars, all vying for space and making way (or not) with a merry indifference to traffic rules.

I'd booked a room at The Vineyard Hotel, which seemed a nice, classic and quiet place for our home base. It was lovely, the large white main building fronted by a lush green lawn, dotted with flowers and fountains and trees. Such greenness in the midst of such oppressive heat was impressive. I got us checked in as quickly as possible, telling them to send our baggage up, because I needed to get Jasper away from people. I could feel him beside me, a pressure cooker on the verge of exploding.

"Alice, I don't know if this was a good idea," he said harshly, as soon as the door was shut behind us, his eyes wild and wide. "There's…there's just so many of them!"

I sighed and held out my arms, and he came into them, let me stroke his hair and kiss his neck, which seemed to improve his mood somewhat. "Baby, you have to get used to this. Don't you want to have a more…well, more _normal_ life?"

He nodded moodily and picked me up, dropping me onto the bed, then lay down beside me. I thought he was going to start something, but instead, he simply pillowed his head on my stomach, looking up at me. "Yes, I do. I want to be with you, and you want a normal life."

Something struck me. "You don't want it for yourself?" I sat up, dislodging him, but for that moment it didn't matter too much. "You're just doing all this for _me_?"

Jasper shrugged, and I felt his hurt and indecision, which were suddenly close to my own.

I'd never really given much thought to what he wanted, I suddenly realized.

I'd been charging ahead with my renovations of his life, his wardrobe even, without considering whether those changes I was making were things he wanted. I hadn't even asked him, really, if he wanted to go and join the Cullen family. He'd just listened to me and nodded and gone along, although I suppose when he'd told me in the diner that he'd follow me anywhere, he'd meant it. He'd never protested or voiced a differing desire.

But I didn't want to make him do things he didn't want to do. I loved him. I wanted us to do things _together_, things _we_ wanted to do because _we_ wanted to do them—not just _me_.

"Jasper…tell me the truth. Is this what you want?" I gestured around us, at the beautiful hotel room. At civilization in general. "Or do you…do you want to just go back to wandering again?"

He started. "What? Why would I want to do that? You don't want to wander around anymore, at least not like I did before!" He grinned, reaching out to touch my face, push back an errant strand of hair that had escaped my bobby pins. "You don't seem like the type that would enjoy that rough life."

I grunted and pulled away, childishly. "Shows what you know. I lived like I vagabond for a few years, Jasper Whitlock. I could teach you a thing or two, I bet."

He sighed again. "Alice, how many times do I have to tell you I'll follow you anywhere you want to go?"

It made me mad. I wanted him to want to go with me because _he_ wanted to, as well.

He felt my anger, and his eyes sparkled, the corners of his mouth twitching as he tried to not smile. Then he suddenly had my wrists in his big hands, and he'd pulled me on top of him, holding me fast.

"Alice, would you go where I went, if I wanted to go somewhere?" he asked quietly and gently, his breath sweet against my lips, which were so very close to his.

I swallowed, disconcerted by his nearness, and by my own mounting desire to decrease even that tiny distance. My mouth felt dry as I thought about it.

Yes, yes I would. Of course I would go wherever he wanted to, if he said he wanted to go somewhere. Whatever. Wherever. Whenever.

"Ah." Jasper smiled, his eyes so close I could see my own reflection in them, my face tiny and swimming in a red-gold sea. "So you finally get it, then."

I got it.

Then I got _him_.

***

**JPOV:**

We passed a nice evening together in the room, waiting for nightfall to venture out. We were both very thirsty, and knew that there was something, somewhere, that we could feed on without feeling guilty. It was Africa, of course.

But the moment we set foot outside the hotel, the feeling of those eyes upon us returned.

We had just come out of the lobby, down the main front steps and onto the beautiful green lawn, when I felt my skin crawl, knowing someone was out there in that fragrant dark night, watching us.

This time it felt like more than one set of eyes; I could sense their presence, feel a whisper of emotion: caution, curiosity, and a protective urge. They didn't know what to make of us, whoever or whatever they were, but they wanted to make sure we weren't dangerous. I would bet just about anything they were our kind, they just felt similar, but why we couldn't see them was beyond me: if they were close enough for me to feel their emotions in any way, they were very close.

But nothing was there. The night sky, spangled with a million impossibly huge and close stars, was clear of clouds. The grassy lawn stretched before us uninterrupted. The fence enclosing the hotel grounds was not too tall, but I supposed someone could be hiding behind it, watching us, but that just didn't feel right. They almost seemed to be watching from…above? Besides, the fence was a good hundred yards away, down a long and winding gravel driveway, too far for me to feel them.

And Alice! How had she not known something was coming! Again, that odd hole in the future came back to me; I looked down at her, frozen and wary at my side, and knew she was thinking the same thing. Her forehead was creased with worry and irritation, her eyes huge and distant as she tried to see into the future, and I knew she wasn't succeeding.

"What do we do, love?" I whispered, putting my hand on hers, which rested on my arm. "Go or stay?"

She shook her head in frustration. "I don't know!"

I sighed, narrowing my eyes to look around again. They were still out there. Watching us. Becoming vaguely amused by our quandary. Now that irritated _me_. I am not a subtle man for the most part, and I don't enjoy being laughed at. I figure, if you want to play, play. Fight me fairly, I'll meet you head to head. But for someone to hide in the darkness and chuckle at our discomfiture, that's just not honorable.

"Whoever you are, we don't mean any harm! We're…we're just visiting!"

I blinked in surprise at Alice's voice. I felt a ripple of surprise from our invisible observers, and then, an audible chuckle.

"We shall see what you _mean_, young pale ones. We shall see!"

The voice seemed to come from the very air above us, the accent thick and rich like I remembered the memory of molasses, of honey, being. It was a female voice, but deep and authoritative, and for some reason I knew whoever spoke was very, very old.

I jerked Alice behind me, covering her body with mine. Damned if I could see who they were, but they'd have to come through me to get her.

"Jasper!" Alice hissed, pounding on my shoulder blade. "Stop it!"

The laughter came again, from above, low and warm. "We shall meet soon, no fear. But do not set foot off these grounds during the nighttime. That is our request. Our…requirement."

I felt a wave of frustration from Alice. "But…" she began, petulant.

"Do not challenge me." The voice turned cool and hard, and I felt the speaker's spark of irritation. I turned and pulled Alice into my arms, pressing her face into my chest to muffle her protests. She pounded my back with her sharp little fists, but I held firm, just hoping she didn't bite me.

"All right, we'll honor your…requirement. Whoever you are." I may be a man of action, but I'm also a prudent man, one who knows how to gauge risk versus reward, and something about that voice told me that I should be a good boy and go along, at least for now. They weren't threatening us, and we _were_ on their land, apparently. And the speaker (_she_?) had said we would meet soon. The thought of that caused a chill to run down my spine.

Another chuckle, and for some reason it seemed farther away. The invisible presences were retreating into the night, up into the sky it almost seemed.

"You are wise, warrior. You must teach your woman this wisdom as well. She seems to have much knowledge, but not much patience." And then there was more laughter, as if all of them were laughing, and the sound of so many voices echoing in the empty night sky was frankly unnerving.

Then they were gone.

And then, Alice stomped on my foot. Hard. With her high heel, and she ground it into my instep.

"Ow!" I jumped and danced on one foot, letting her go. "What'd you do that for?"

"'You must teach your woman patience and wisdom?'" Her voice dripped sarcasm; she made as if to stomp on my foot again. I quickly pulled my feet out of reach. Her eyes were outraged, almost shooting sparks she was so irritated. "I'll show you wisdom!" And she took of her hat and threw it up into the vacant night sky, as if hoping to hit whoever, or whatever, had been watching…and laughing…at us.

"Alice." I tried to keep my tone even, although inside I was laughing.

"What?" She whirled to face me. "Of all the nerve! Who are these people? And what, they _fly_?" She strained her eyes up to the stars.

I shook my head, mystified. Where before I'd been nervous and filled with foreboding, something had changed. Hearing the voice that went with the odd invisible presence made things a bit more…palatable. I was actually a bit excited to meet whoever these creatures were.

But whoever, or whatever, they were, they were very strong. Strong enough to be invisible, to perhaps fly…to cut a hole in Alice's visions and hide themselves.

She sat down on the grass, crossing her arms and poking out her bottom lip like a pouting child. I couldn't help but laugh, she reminded me of Ginny when she was a child and didn't get her way. "I don't like this at all."

I sat down beside her, drew her into my arms, even though she hissed a little and didn't look at me. "Oh, would you please just quiet down?" I rubbed the back of her neck, firmly, gently, trying to soothe away the tension and irritation. "We'll figure it all out soon enough, I think."

"But you're thirsty! And so am I!" she wailed, finally giving in to my touch and flopping back against my chest. "We are supposed to go on that tour tomorrow. All those humans! You won't enjoy it at all!"

I shushed her with a kiss. "Don't worry." Suddenly it struck me as funny: normally, it was her doing the reassuring. It felt good in a rather selfish way to have the tables turned a bit, to not be the one fretting. "Let's just go back up to the room and have a nice night together. Tomorrow will take care of itself."

And boy, did it.

***

APOV:

After that terribly distressing encounter with the invisible whoever-they-weres, we did indeed pass a nice night together. Although it was hard to pull back my questing and dissatisfied mind at times, Jasper did a good job of realizing when my attention strayed and roping it back in to what really mattered: skin on skin, heart to heart, loving my man, him loving me.

The next day dawned hot but overcast, just the way I liked it, like I'd seen. But this was the sticking point: my vision disappeared right after we left the hotel that morning. I felt alone and blind in the dark as Jasper walked beside me, his arm around my waist, without my sight to keep me company and tell me what lay ahead. That hole, that grey area, in my mind's eye was frustrating and honestly frightened me.

We'd made arrangements to go out on a tour of the area, but when I called down to the front desk the concierge informed me very politely that the tour had been cancelled.

"Huh," I muttered, nonplussed. Jasper glanced over at me, one eyebrow cocked questioningly. "They cancelled the tour." We'd been scheduled to go out to see the surrounding mountains with a guide, pass for human for a little while. I considered it practice for the coming years, Jasper considered it some kind of punishment in disguise.

He shrugged. "Things happen. They're humans, after all."

But it didn't sit right with me, for some reason. "I want to get out of here, Jasper. I'm thirsty, so I know you are, too." I know I was right: his eyes were black now, and he carried himself so carefully when we were outside of our little bubble, alone together in our bed. So careful, he didn't want any more "little slip-ups."

"Well, then, let's get out of here!" He stood up and reached out for my hand. "Who needs a tour. I'd rather explore with just you, anyway."

So we went down and out of the hotel again, both of us tensed for unseen eyes again when we set foot on that manicured green lawn. But they didn't come. We decided to simply walk off the grounds, and even as we passed the main checkpoint and into the city, we felt nothing amiss. Perhaps they were watching from further away. Or maybe not at all. Perhaps the strange ones only came out at night. Or perhaps we were both going mad at the same time. I wasn't terribly optimistic.

We strolled through the scenic human town, keeping to the shadows as much as possible in case the sun broke through the cloud cover. It was stiflingly hot, and the streets were crowded with people of all colors and classes. Soon it became too much for Jasper: I felt his tension building until it was almost unbearable. I hailed a cab and stuffed him into it.

I told the cabbie to floor it, to get us outside of the city. He shot me a crazy look and asked me where, exactly.

"Just someplace…quiet! Remote!"

His eyes lit up at the thought of a hefty fare. "How 'bout Table Mountain? You's can take a cable car to the top, or hike up if that's your pleasure…" He glanced down at my high-heeled shoes. "Or not."

"That's fine, sir. Just drive." I pressed a handful of bills into his hand. "Table Mountain it is."

The cabbie drove out of town, down a long and winding road that led up into the rolling hills and then dropped us at the base of the huge, flat-topped mountain that was Cape Town's notorious landmark: it reared up out of the ground like a massive table, its sides rippled and folded like a tablecloth. "The tram's over that a-way," the driver said, pointing up the slope to our left. "G'day!" And he peeled out, leaving us in a cloud of dust. I'd vastly over-paid him, but it was worth it.

Even though we were only in the foothills, we still could see down into the crescent-shaped valley that was Cape Town's two harbors. Jasper shaded his eyes and looked up toward the summit of the mountain. "So, what do you think, climb or tram?"

I glanced down at my feet and shrugged, kicking off my shoes. I had more. "Climb!" I knew the physical exertion would be good for the both of us, until we'd had a chance to feed.

Jasper grinned. "I knew you'd say that!" And he took off up the steep incline, leaving me in the dust.

"No way!" I screeched, taking off after him. I was so much faster than him, and I had to prove it. Leave it to him to wait until my second sight had been temporarily blinded to take advantage of it.

We scratched and clawed and scrabbled our way up the side of that mountain, laughing the entire time, showers of loose rocks and dust cascading down on whoever happened to be below. We reached the top simultaneously, but I tackled him and knocked him down, the two of us skidding in the dirt, laughing so hard we were breathless.

We had come up on the far side of the mountain from the docking point of the tram, which was slowly trundling its way up its cable to the summit. I could barely see it if I leaned over the edge of the cliff and craned my neck, glad that we had some privacy.

"Would you look at that?" Jasper whispered wonderingly, taking my hand and pulling me to him. "Now _that's_ a view."

And it was. We stood atop the world. Before us, the ocean stretched away to the distant misty horizon, deep azure meeting the pale blue of the sky. Behind us, the continent spread like a rumpled carpet, reds and golds and browns bleeding into each other. I could see where the human city ended, and became the savannah, the veldt, a rolling vista of golden-green grass and occasional stunted trees. The wind smelled wild as it curled around us, teasing our hair and clothes.

"Ho there, friends! Enjoying the view!" The voice came from nowhere behind us; we both tensed, but both of us realized it was a human voice, completely unthreatening. Drat my vanished sight! I hated being caught by surprise!

We warily turned and faced the speaker. An older man, his iron-grey hair tucked neatly up under his hat, was grinning as he came toward us. Clad in the typical safari-style gear, his knobby knees peeked from beneath his shorts, and he had the stereotypical Englishman-in-Africa full mustache. I felt like saying, "Doctor Livingtone, I presume?" I had to settle for a stifled giggle instead.

"Lovely sight, lovely sight indeed!" the man chortled in a thick, cultured English accent, clapping both of us on the shoulder. Jasper flinched, his face tense and his eyes hungry as he shot me a panicked glance: the man did smell particularly nice. But then again, by that point, just about anyone did. The man's boisterous friendliness was disconcerting, too.

"Well…yes, sir, yes it is," I managed weakly, trying to figure out how to get the man away from Jasper without being too obvious. I glanced back toward where he'd appeared from. "Did you come up on the tram?"

The man shook his head, still grinning. "No, I hiked up a few hours ago. Trying to get the courage to climb back down!" He slapped my shoulder. "The old knees're telling me take the tram, but the old pride says climb!"

I nodded dumbly, trying not to breathe.

"Oh, where're my manners!" He stuck out his hand gamely. "Miles Smithfield, at your service!"

I managed a quick introduction and shook his hand carefully and quickly, not letting his hot fingers linger on mine, but it wasn't fast enough: he gave a little shiver at my touch. "Goodness, Mrs. Whitlock, but you must have terrible circulation if your hands are so cold in such abominable heat!"

Miles Smithfield pulled out a handkerchief and dramatically mopped his sweating forehead and face. "So, new to Africa then, Mr. Whitlock? Your first trip?"

Jasper nodded faintly, his eyes fixed over the human's shoulder. I could feel his self-control wavering, and knew I had to do something. Anything. That was no place for another "little slip-up." I looked around frantically for anything to distract Jasper, the man, anyone. But there was no one around but us; I could barely hear the humans on the far side of the mountain, several miles distant but their voices carried by the eager wind to my ears.

"Yes, yes, this is my third sojourn to the Dark Continent, can't seem to get enough of it here," Mr. Smithfield prattled on, pulling out a penknife and beginning to clean under his fingernails. I watched him for a moment, then focused inward, imploring my sight to come back and help me, but it was all vague grayness, an impenetrable cloud obscuring the future. But my gut twisted in foreboding. "But my first time in Cape Town. Normally I go to Durban and inland from there. I say, have you been to Kruger Park? Gorgeous. Shot a leopard in a game preserve near there, wonderful animal, let me tell you, I had him mounted—damn!"

_Oh, God_.

It was too horribly perfect, as if Fate had lined up this silly old man and his clumsy old fingers and sharp little knife, just to mock and tempt Jasper, set the human down in front of my husband and painted a big bulls-eye on him and said, "Here, Jasper, go right ahead!"

Mr. Miles Smithfield, lately of Cheshire, England and soon to be the late Mr. Miles Smithfield, had cut himself while carelessly cleaning his fingernails. Just a tiny bit, he's speared the pad of his thumb, one bright drop of blood welling up, which he stuck into his mouth with another muttered oath. But it was enough.

It was over fast, thank goodness.

I turned my head and looked away: I didn't want to see it, I knew I couldn't move quickly enough to stop it, and I knew I needed to keep watch to make sure no one had seen what happened. But we were alone, up on that end of the windswept Table Mountain, all of Africa spread out below us.

But then, we weren't alone. _They_ were there.

"Poachers! Tresspassers!" This voice was different, deeper, hot and strong as the scorching summer sun, male in timbre, and so suddenly close that I almost fell down in shock. I felt their presence oppressively, as if they had sucked all the air out of my lungs with their closeness. Their scent was overpowering, sweet and spicy and musky, an otherworldly incense that almost stung with its intensity.

Jasper froze, dropping the old man to the ground, his lips still wet with the bright blood. "Oh, God, Alice…"

I shook my head sadly. Too late now. I didn't need my sight to tell me that.

I felt something grab my arms, hands that were so strong I didn't even dream of offering resistance. I knew it'd be over much faster if I struggled. Perhaps, if we were properly submissive…

Then the touch of fingers on my forehead, and a third voice, cool and soft as mist, breathed into my face. "Sleep."

And I did.

***

**JPOV:**

_Curse me. Curse me, a hundred ways to Sunday. Burn me in hell, why can't I get a grip on this? What? They're here? What--_

That was the last thing I remembered before they took us.

I opened my eyes to darkness, and if I'd had a heart that could beat I know it would have been pounding itself out of my chest in shock and fear. I'm not ashamed to admit I was afraid: a real man doesn't lie to himself about fear, nor does he underestimate a powerful enemy, and these were the most powerful enemies I'd ever encountered. If they _were_ enemies—and they probably were, now that I'd trespassed. If they could make a vampire sleep, I was afraid of them.

I'd never realized how accustomed I'd become to not sleeping anymore. It had been over eighty years since I'd last slept, or even closed my eyes for any length of time. Like others of my kind, I'd go away from myself for a while, let my body slip into stillness and let my mind drift, and that is restful in its way. But I hadn't been unconscious, awakening from sleep, since I'd been turned. It was terrifying to have lost track of time like that, even worse to have lost it into a darkness of another's making.

I was lying on my back, on the ground, it seemed. And that was all I could feel. Nothing else, and even though I knew my eyes were open I saw nothing that told me that they were open: black on black on black. And I felt nothing except the hardness beneath me. No heat, no cold, and there was no sound. Not even of my own breathing, when I remembered to do so.

"Alice? Alice!" I cried into the darkness, and I didn't hear my voice. I knew I screamed, I felt the force of the sound in my lungs, my throat, but nothing came to my ears.

I began to panic. For the first time in my life, I began to completely lose control. I was alone in the dark, my senses taken from me, and I didn't know where Alice was. Was she hurt? Was she alive? Was she like me, suspended in nothingness?

Oh, God no. Please no. She'd lose her mind. Nothingness frightened her: she didn't remember her past, and it gnawed at her. She only remembered a little of the burning of transformation, just since the time her heart had died inside her, and that blackness had terrified her. The emptiness of her past terrified her. She'd confided it to me once, as I held her in my arms the night of our wedding, and I'd had to love away the fear.

Alice!

_She's here, warrior. Calm yourself. _

I froze at the sound of the voice, which seemed to come from everywhere all at once. It sounded familiar, warm and smooth and rich…rich like honey…

_Yes, good. Now, come back. Come back._

And the darkness was gone, and I felt everything again, so suddenly it was almost painful. The air thick and sweet in my lungs, the sounds of the wind sighing in the trees above, insects chirping. The night sky stretched endlessly above me, those stars so close and bright, I could almost hear them twinkling. The scents of the grass and the dust, and flowers…and the sweetness of immortals.

Many of them.

I leapt to my feet in one fluid movement, crouching defensively, whirling in a circle to confront them, but seeing nothing because I was searching for Alice. My breath caught in my throat when I finally saw her.

There she was, lying on the ground right next to me, her eyes closed tightly, still and silent as death.

And then it didn't matter whether they'd destroy me, I didn't care, she was _there_. I dropped to my knees and gathered her to my chest, her body so tiny and fragile-seeming in my arms, head lolling back against my shoulder.

"Alice!" I didn't know what to do. Was she…was she…dead?

"No, warrior. She is sleeping. Dreaming, actually. She will awake when it is time." This time, the voice wasn't in my head. It was right beside me, so close I could feel the speaker's breath on my cheek.

I turned my head to the sound of the voice, and then I saw them for the first time.


	15. Chapter 15: The Path of Discovery

Chapter 15:

**APOV:**

_Black black black black black._

Why did this seem so familiar?

I was dreaming?

I was _there_. I smelled, I tasted, I felt. I remembered_._

I _remembered._

I want to forget!

_Pain, loneliness, abandonment, self-hatred …Body cramped and aching, every muscle screaming in protest, a taste in my mouth like metal… hunger twisting my stomach and thirst burning my throat… an itching longing scratching at the insides of my skull, a longing for something that wasn't food or water, but something different, that could take me away from this dark cold hell… Smell of my unwashed body and dankness…sound of dripping water somewhere, of my ragged breathing, of my own heart beating and my blood pulsing…_

I felt my body! I felt it, so fragile and weak and full of grasping needs. It disgusted me.

Faces. Voices. Images flashing by like barely-seen glimpses of the landscape from a speeding train. People from my past, before the black room and all the pain. Mother. Sister. Father.

_Father?_

He put me there! He wanted this for me!

Shocks! Burning heat! Icy cold needles flaying the skin from my back! Gagging, retching, begging to die!

Ten years!

!!!

Why had I wanted to know all this? Why had I wondered and wanted to remember? Why had I let the absence of these memories torture me for so long?

I cast about for something worth remembering. Was there? Anything? Something good and safe and sound and wonderful? Was there anything?

No, not in those memories. Not in those memories, those vague and muddy memories, they were almost all of pain and sadness. But briefly, after those memories…

One figure, one figure only glimpsed briefly with my weak mortal eyes, seen more with my human mind's dull eye, he was white and beautiful and cold…

He loved me.

Did I love him?

Yes.

Then more pain…

What more? I was adrift at sea, lost in a dark and bottomless ocean, and I couldn't swim, I was sinking, drowning…I slipped beneath the waves, oblivion sucking me down into a featureless blackness that wanted to swallow me whole, leaving nothing of me behind. Madness. Chuckling low and sinister in the back of my head, wrapping its cold fingers around my ankles and pulling me, yanking me away, down into the depths with it.

_Alice!_

My body responded immediately to the sound of that voice, recognized my name. My mind pushed ahead, past the invisible barrier and into clarity. I struggled and kicked against the black ocean, breaking the hold of madness, breaching the surface of that sea, gasping, struggling against the hold of the darkness. I knew I was looking for something, I knew what I was looking for.

And I found it.

_Jasper._

I saw his face, his beautiful face in my mind, in my dream, heard him cry my name, and it helped pull me up out of that blackness, out of that sea of pain and horror. I knew that I had won. I reached out and I grasped his hand in my dream and I pulled myself up with all my might, he tugged me up toward him, and the darkness fell away.

And I was awake.

***

**JPOV:**

They were _everywhere_.

I had never seen so many immortals together at one time, not even when I had assembled Maria's army. Then, we never numbered more than forty or so…

There were at least a hundred of them, probably more, forming a ring around Alice and myself. And they were immortals. Vampires. But unlike any I'd ever seen before.

Their skin was blacker than the blackest coal, but it seemed to be lit from within and without, gleaming like moonlight on obsidian. Of course I'd seen people of African descent back home, and these immortals _were_ Africans, pure and true, and they were beautiful.

They were of all shapes and sizes, attesting to their diversity, but their eyes all glowed red in the darkness like burning coals, their grins blindingly white against the dusky skin of their faces, the ones whose faces I could see at all. They wore fabrics in a myriad of colors and patterns, swathing them in a dozen styles, men and women, some naked from the waist up, some covered head to foot with their eyes gleaming through a small opening in their head coverings, some clothed somewhere in between. Diverse but still the same, united by their immortality. A whole continent's worth of immortals, gathered here to see us.

Perhaps to pass judgment on us?

I felt their expectant amusement and anticipation as they watched me, watched Alice, a veneer of amusement giving civility to the mistrust and anxiety at our strangeness, anger at my trespass.

Then I shifted my eyes to the right, where I had felt the breath, heard that voice in my ear, and I saw the three speakers.

Two women, one man. All dark-skinned, regal, exuding power and strength, their eyes a deep burgundy, almost black, but they weren't dark from hunger.

The woman on the right had long hair coiled into intricate braids, her eyes almond-shaped, catlike, in a narrow-chinned face, and she wore brilliant red fabric swathing her body from shoulder to knee. Row after row of ivory necklaces circled her long, aristocratic neck, and her wrists and ankles were piled with ivory bracelets, as well as gold and silver. She reminded me of Mama Dina, my nana from childhood. Her expression was expectant, one corner of her mouth quirked up in a slight smile, her eyes studying me intently, as if she were reading me.

The woman on the left was shorter, rounder, but her face was wise and gentle, her heavy-lidded eyes sharp on mine. Her dark curly hair was cut very short, and she wore gaily patterned blue and gold calico, and was similarly bedecked in wealth, gold and silver and ivory at neck and nose and ears. She smiled benignly at me, her eyes narrowed slightly in concentration.

The man in the center was huge, taller than me, broad-chested, heavily muscled, also draped in crimson fabric, his head shaved, his cheeks and arms tattooed in elaborate designs. His sneer proved the dislike and mistrust and anger I could already feel from him: he didn't like me, or Alice. He held a spear with the easy assurance of one born to it. Pointed directly at my chest.

And they were _old_. So very old. I don't know how I knew it, but it was true.

The woman on the right smiled at me, her teeth glittering, holding up one hand out in what seemed to be a welcoming gesture. "So, warrior. What have you to say for yourself?" Hers was the voice like honey, the one we'd first heard the night before on the lawn of the hotel.

I was stumped. Completely at a loss for words.

The male bared his teeth at me in something like a malevolent grin and motioned with his spear. "Yes, _warrior_, speak. Explain your trespass." His was the fiery, deep voice that had accused me before I had been bidden to sleep. "And accept the penalty."

There I stood with Alice in my arms, surrounded by more than a hundred fierce and strange immortals, and my tongue felt glued to the roof of my mouth. What do you say in that case? When you know you've done wrong and have no way to make it right? When you know an apology isn't enough? When you failed even yourself?

The smaller woman sighed. "Oh, Masudi, hold your tongue," she murmured, and hers was the cool and sweet voice that had told me to sleep, it had been her fingers against my forehead and Alice's, pushing us into unconsciousness. "Can't you see he's overwhelmed?" She placed one hand on the man's shoulder in a calming gesture.

The man shot an irritated glance at her. "What has that to do with anything, Ebele? He killed on our lands, in broad daylight, no less!" He grunted. "What are they, barbarians? Have they no manners in the cold lands?"

The taller woman laughed. "I don't think he could quite help himself, Masudi." She placed her hand on the man's shoulder and squeezed. "He was so thirsty. So long without feeding. And such a strange one! Look at his eyes! Remember the girl's, too! Golden!" She fingered the heavy bracelet around her right wrist, thick ivory inlaid with gold in strange symbols. Gold like Alice's eyes…and like mine had been, before I drank human blood again.

Ebele, the shorter woman, came forward, her steps fluid and lithe, reminding me of how Alice moved, with the unconscious grace of a born dancer. She peered up into my face and nodded, a faint smile playing around the corners of her generous mouth, studying me with a detached fascination, like one might study an interesting bug. "You are right, Miali. Quite outstanding. I have never seen the like." Her presence was calming, her eyes steady on mine, as if she understood me. But understanding wouldn't necessarily translate to mercy, I knew.

Masudi, the male, growled, stamping his spear in the dirt. "I still say they should be sentenced to at least the sleep of punishment. Such arrogance!" His eyes flicked up and locked on mine, fierce and angry. "How would you wish us to behave upon your lands, pale one? Would you not become angry, should your herds be touched, your safety compromised by an outsider?"

I swallowed, my throat dry, but I nodded: he was right. I looked down at Alice, her small face so quiet in repose as I'd never seen it before. I realized then how she must have looked as a mortal, sleeping, so vulnerable. Fragile.

_Alice!_ I begged her silently, _Alice, wake up!_

And she did. She stirred in my arms, sighed.

"Ah, see how they are bound!" the taller woman, Miali, murmured. "So strong!" She glanced at the shorter woman, Ebele. "Strong enough to pull her out of your sleep unbidden, sister wife."

Alice's eyelids fluttered and then opened completely, golden and confused, and…

"Jasper!" she whispered, and threw her arms around my neck. She was shaking, and terrified, but she knew me. For that moment, it didn't matter that those strangers were watching, or what might happen afterward, because Alice was awake and she knew me and she loved me. Then she stunned me.

"Jasper, I remember!" Her fear rolled off her in waves, fear and regret and pain.

I put her down carefully, my hands on her shoulders so I could hold her steady if she needed it. "What do you mean? You remember what?"

Her eyes slipped closed again for a moment, and I felt a spasm of pain jolt through her. She almost fell. "Everything. I remember everything. From…from before. Before I was changed." She leaned forward, burying her face in my chest. "And I don't want to anymore!" she wailed.

I was dumbfounded, once again struck speechless. How had this happened?

"That was my doing, warrior. This woman was searching for something, and I helped her find it." It was Ebele, the shorter woman, who spoke, and then I felt her hand on my shoulder; I had to force myself not to pull away. "But sometimes, we seek things out of ignorance, and when we find them, we discover that we should have left them alone."

Alice was weeping, dry, tearless sobs, her fingers twisting handfuls of my shirt as she scrabbled for purchase, something to hold onto. I'd never felt her so completely bereft. I held her, her pain was so real it was almost physical: I had to do something. I channeled my love into her, I urged her to be calm, to be quiet. And all along I was wondering what had happened to remove the blockage in her mind, to allow her to remember.

"Ah!" Miali this time, and she was close by as well, close enough to touch. "So interesting!" I knew she understood what I was doing, soothing Alice. "Poor thing. I have seen her past, and I should not want to remember it, either, and I was not even there! Perhaps it was a cruel thing you have done for her, Ebele."

Ebele grunted. "She has a choice now, to remember or to forget again. But she should make that decision with a clear mind, sister wife. She needs a bit of time to assimilate what she has remembered. She might need those things from her past in the future." She chuckled. "But that would be for you to tell, would it not?"

Miali laughed. "Yes, I shall have to look."

And then she reached out and touched the top of Alice's head, her long, elegant fingers stroking Alice's hair gently. Her catlike red eyes closed and her whole frame tensed, her face going blank. I felt something strange from her: something like a mixture of fear and dread, colored with curiosity and fierce, protective resolve. "Ah!" Miali opened her eyes and nodded, lips pursed in satisfaction, but she kept her hand on Alice's head. "Very interesting, indeed!"

Alice shivered at her touch, clinging tightly to me as if she was afraid I'd be ripped away from her. "What?" I whispered. "Is she…is she hurting you?"

"No." She shivered again, her voice muffled against my chest. "But…but she's…looking…_inside_ me, but at the _future_, and she's so _strong_!"

Miali grinned at me, patting Alice's head tenderly. "This child is very strong as well. She must learn to focus her gift better, but that comes with time. I have had over three thousand years to come to this point. The gifts ripen with time, as well. Like fruit, worth the wait for the sweetness." She dropped her hand. "As you shall learn as well, Jasper Whitlock."

My name on her lips shocked me, but I suppose it really shouldn't have, considering who I was talking to. Apparently Miali could see the future, like Alice, but she was stronger than Alice, and she could see the past, as well? And Ebele, she had somehow made Alice remember her past? And could make her forget again? And she could make us sleep? I shot a sideways glance at Masudi, the huge male, who still stood several feet away, looking very threatening, his jaw thrust forward in stubborn disdain. I wondered what he could do.

"Masudi is very strong in his own way. Where my sister wife and I are strong in the realm of the intangible, our husband is strong in the ways of the material," Ebele said, as if she had read my thoughts.

I started. Had she?

"Yes," she replied placidly, as if I'd spoken aloud. "Once I have touched you, we have a bond. Mind to mind. Although it weakens with distance."

I shook my head, staggered. Masudi barked a laugh at my shock. "Perhaps he would like a demonstration?" he said mockingly.

And then he threw the spear, right at us. But more precisely, right at Alice's back.

As fast as I can be, he was faster. As my body reacted, it was like slow-motion, and the spear just kept coming.

And then it stopped.

I tumbled to the ground, driven by my momentum, taking Alice with me, both of us gasping as we fell into the dust. And the spear simply hung there in midair, inches from where we had been moments before. Perfectly still, perfectly straight, suspended in space.

Masudi laughed, bending over double. Ebele frowned at him and shook her head; Miali rolled her eyes and sighed in exasperation. "Husband, that was not nice," she chided, reaching out to pluck the spear from the air and tossing it back to him.

"When have I ever been nice?" he replied, arching one eyebrow, still laughing. He caught the spear again…but not with his hands. It simply came to stand beside him, butt end in the dust, the point gleaming. "_Nice_ does not protect our lands, wives. Bear that in mind." He looked at me pointedly. "As should you, pale one."

Point taken.

Ebele and Miali came forward and helped us up, Ebele taking Alice's arms and holding her before her, looking Alice up and down as if measuring her with her eyes. Miali's grip on my arms tightened as I tried to go to Alice, and I felt her whisper by my ear again. "Softly, Jasper Whitlock. She does no harm. My sister wife is gentle and kind. She wants to help your mate."

Alice and Ebele stared into each other's eyes for a long time, that moment suspended and hanging like that spear had hung in midair. I felt Alice's emotions flickering and changing wildly, fluctuating from fear to anger to wonder to joy to sadness…

After a while, both women visibly relaxed, Alice's head slumping forward as if she were exhausted, Ebele turning to smile brightly at me. "Relax, warrior. All shall be well in good time."

She turned Alice and pushed her gently toward me; I had to catch her before she fell, picking her up and holding her close to me. Her eyes closed, as if to sleep again, but her little arms came up to twine around my neck, and she clung to me fiercely. I pressed my lips against her forehead and held her tightly, willing her to come back to me, for the fear to go.

"_Sasa, watoto! Sisi kutangaza uamuzi wetu karibuni_!" Miali's voice rang out suddenly, causing a ripple of murmured responses among the gathered vampires surrounding us. "_Sasa! Asante sana kwa kuja! Je mema uwindaji, ndugu na dada_!"

Then they were gone again, all of them vanishing into the darkness of the night with barely a whisper in the tall grasses to show they'd ever been there. Only Miali, Ebele, and Masudi remained. I stared at the three ancient vampires and wondered what she had said.

Ebele laughed. "She told them in Swahili to go, that we would announce our decision regarding you soon. And she wished the brothers and sisters good hunting." She patted my arm. "Now, we may talk more comfortably. We have much to discuss, I think."

***

**APOV:**

Waking wasn't much better than sleeping had been.

At least while I'd been dreaming, some part of my mind had known that. But then, once I awoke and still remembered that horrible dream, and knew it was real, it was even worse. I remembered those things, and I couldn't un-remember them. They would haunt me in my endless waking time, a nightmare I couldn't ever escape from.

Now I understood, I thought. Perhaps my human brain just couldn't handle it all, and with the transformation it had left all that damage behind, walled it up, sealed it up, buried it, let the heat of those three days of burning solder shut the door to the tomb of my other life. If I'd awakened from the change with those memories and all that pain burdening me, I might have become that horrid creature I'd glimpsed down that one path, leading away from that crossroads I'd come to. She was a monster.

Instead, I'd started with a fresh slate, no preconceived notions or memories of torture and madness. I'd only had the visions of my future, bright and beckoning me. My family. Jasper.

He held me tightly, and I could feel his concern for me, and his worry about what was happening around us. I had seen the others surrounding us, but my mind was so overwhelmed that it hadn't truly sunk in that we were potentially in very real and immediate danger. I couldn't see into the future, I was still in the middle of that grey hole in my visions.

And then the first woman had touched me, and I had felt her sift through my past and skim through my future as casually as I might turn the pages of a book, the touch of her gift heavy and undeniable, but it didn't hurt. I had no choice, I was carried along with her as she looked behind and ahead, and I saw some tantalizing glimpses of my future which made my head spin. Then she pulled back, so I couldn't keep following her, and the link was severed.

And then the second woman was holding me up and looking into my eyes. I felt her mind touch mine, and I felt her vast and ancient thoughts. She poked and picked among my memories, not reading them like Miali had, but examining them like a doctor might examine a wound. Her touch was soothing, healing. She had made me sleep, she had brought down the barrier my mind had built against the memories of my humanity, and now she was inspecting the damage that flood had caused.

_Child, you must think and decide what you want to do with this. If you wish, I can undo what was done, but you must consider very carefully. _She spoke directly into my head, her deep burgundy eyes grave. _Sometimes it is best to forget, sometimes it is best to remember. You must choose wisely._

Then she let me go, and Jasper gathered me back into his arms again. Good thing, too, because I might have fallen down. I felt so completely drained by the things I'd seen. It was frightening to be so weak, it was almost like being human again.

The others went away, and Miali and Ebele motioned us to follow them as they began to run, Masudi trailing behind, his spear in his hand again, glowering. Jasper's hand was firm around mine as he pulled me along, and thankfully my strength began returning as we picked up speed, the grass soft and springy beneath our feet. It was a joy to run, to let my body take over for a while, to concentrate only on the smooth motions and the sweet wind in my face.

We were in the middle of vast grassland, the hills rolling endlessly to meet the horizon, only studded occasionally by a low, twisted tree, black against the night sky. The air was cool and dry, the sounds of buzzing insects low in the background. I glanced up and gasped at the moon, which seemed so close and huge above us, nearly full, casting our shadows before us in sharp relief. Where were they taking us?

Then, in the distance, something appeared on the horizon. A dark blot that began to grow and grow, the closer we came to it, gaining definition: mountains, three peaks, the one in the center impossibly huge and nearly symmetrical as it reared up, snow-capped, the head and shoulders of a giant rising from the plains.

"The sacred mountain, Alice. _Kilimanjaro_." Ebele's voice was right beside me; she chuckled when I stumbled in surprise, her hand finding mine to keep me from falling at the same time Jasper pulled me up with my other. "This is the place of dreaming and thinking, of telling stories. Come. Up, Alice. Come to Kibo." She pointed to the central peak.

And we went up, up the side of that mountain, through the forests at the base, up and up as the air became thinner and colder, until suddenly we were there, at the top of the world, the snow crunching beneath our feet.

"My God," Jasper breathed in wonder, turning in a full circle to see everything. Even though it was night we could see the vast grasslands stretching into eternity beneath us, thousands of feet below. I looked up into the sky and had to restrain myself from reaching up, like a child, to try to touch the stars, which seemed to be just beyond my grasp in the frosty air.

Masudi laughed, but it was less mocking than before. "Yes, close to God indeed, pale one." He stuck his spear into the snowy ground. "We come here to hear the stars sing, to think and meditate. To make decisions. There is no place closer to God than here."

Miali nodded and took her husband's hand; so did Ebele, and the three of them silently looked up into the sky, their faces shining in the moonlight. I watched them, curious: I'd never seen this kind of relationship. One husband, two wives. But they seemed completely comfortable with it. I supposed they'd had time to get used to it…over three thousand years!

But I could never do that. Share my husband, that is. I tightened my grip on Jasper's hand and I felt him vibrate with suppressed laughter: he knew exactly what I was thinking, and he didn't need to be a mind reader to do it. He leaned down and kissed me, his lips smiling against mine. "Don't worry, Alice. I'm all yours. As long as you'll have me."

"Forever," I whispered back, losing myself in his kiss for a long, sweet moment. His kiss, his body against mine, pushed those memories away for a moment. But they didn't want to be pushed away. They pushed back.

_Oh!_ The memory of another kiss…_Hard, cold lips on mine that were so soft and fragile. The pain in my body, the burning spreading, the passion of my response to that kiss, but then the pain of his teeth cutting my lips, my tongue, as he kissed me and then feverishly swallowed my blood, the taste of it coppery in my mouth…_

"No!" I shrieked, pulling back. I didn't want this! "Ebele, make it go away, please!"

Ebele turned and regarded me, her eyes sad. "In a while, Alice, should you truly mean it." She shook her head. "You need time to let the memories surface, deal with them…then you can decide, and once you decide, it should be final. I cannot risk damaging your mind by tampering with it too much."

Jasper stared down at me, his hurt and jealousy and surprise saturating me. He'd felt my emotions as I remembered kissing someone else. He'd never known there was anyone else that had kissed me before. Hell, _I _hadn't known! Part of me was irritated by his reaction, but more than anything I felt ashamed. I knew it was illogical and unnecessary to feel guilty, but I still did.

"Baby…" I pleaded with him silently, begging him to understand. After all, he'd lived with that tramp Maria for eighty years, and he'd done much more than just kiss her once! I tried to restrain my anger; I knew it wouldn't help anything. But my emotions were ragged and wild, like they'd been when I was a newborn, like I'd been re-born after my dream. I wondered absently if my eyes were red again.

He sighed and closed his eyes, rubbing his face tiredly. "It's all right, Alice. You didn't know, and even if you did, it wouldn't matter. Your past doesn't matter to me, remembered or forgotten. You've given me that gift from the beginning, and I owe it to you."

I hissed. "I don't want you to _owe_ me anything!"

"You know what I mean. Don't be looking for something to fight about." He took my hands in his, drew me closer to him, his eyes intent on mine. "It doesn't matter. Period." And he opened the bottle, as I called it, let out everything he was feeling, not just the things that escaped, his heart completely naked and bare to me, I could almost reach out and take it my hands, it seemed.

How could I not melt in the face of that? So much love. All mine. The past didn't matter. I closed my eyes and leaned into him, and he into me. The past didn't matter.

At least not to him.

"Very nice, children." Miali's voice was dry and amused. "But now, we should speak."

We looked up guiltily; the three ancient vampires regarded us with smiles in varying degrees of warmth. Masudi pointed to the right, and then I noticed for the first time a group of largish stones, arranged in a tight circle, almost like seats. "Sit." It wasn't a request.

After brushing the snow from the surface, Jasper and I sat down, and the three others settled across from us. He put his arms around my shoulders and held me close, both of us waiting for them to begin.

Ebele glanced at Miali, who nodded.

"No doubt you have many questions. So, please, let us get those out of the way first, before we come to more intimate things."

Jasper and I exchanged a searching look, then he spoke. "How…how old are you?"

Miali laughed. "Certainly to the point, I see. Has no one ever told you, it is rude to inquire of a lady her age?"

Jasper blinked in surprise. "I…well, I am sorry—"

She cut him off with a wave. "I am joking. I was told pale ones had a sense of humor, no?" Masudi chortled, shaking his head at his wife. "As I said before, I have had over three thousand years in the Long Life, Jasper Whitlock. So has Ebele. Masudi is slightly younger, but not much."

"Long Life?" His brow furrowed in confusion.

Ebele leaned forward to answer. "Yes. I shall explain. A human has three lives." She ticked them off on her fingers. "The time before birth, while he or she is in the womb of their mother. This is the First Life. The time of formation and dreaming. Then the time from birth to physical death is named the Second Life, which is time of deeds and actions. If one dies as a human, the spirit lives on in the Third Life, which is the life of the mind and soul. Some leave this world and go to be with the gods. Others stay, usually to advise us, or sometimes because they are confused or angry."

Her eyes narrowed as she stared at Jasper. "Your sister can speak to those in the Third Life, Jasper Whitlock, I saw from your thoughts. This is very fortunate and powerful. Your family carries strong gifts."

"So where does the Long Life come from?" Jasper refused to be sidetracked, although the answer to his question was beginning to look apparent to me.

"When a human in the Second Life is bitten by an immortal, they enter the Long Life. We call it this because we are not dead…but not quite alive in the normal way of understanding what 'alive' means." Miali pursed her lips thoughtfully. "And we can live eternally, it seems, unless the physical body is destroyed."

"And what happens after that? When the Long Life is ended?" Jasper leaned forward eagerly, his eyes alight with interest. I could feel his intensity. "Have…have you ever known anyone like us to cross into the Third Life?"

Ah, my God-fearing husband's childhood beliefs were making themselves known. He worried about his soul.

Masudi shook his head. "Never. We have never known of one of our kind to speak to us after their body has died." His voice was grim.

Ebele shot her husband a withering look. "But that does not mean that we cannot cross over. It just means…well, that we have never been able to confirm it."

Jasper's mood plummeted immediately. "So…we just go out? Like a candle? Poof? We're gone?"

Miali reached over and patted his arm. "I suppose that is possible, but I somehow doubt it, Jasper. Perhaps you should ask your sister? Did she not say she would be near you?"

I jumped a bit in surprise. That hadn't occurred to me. But how to speak to her? Jasper didn't hear the voices like Ginny and her daughter could. I voiced that thought.

Ebele shrugged. "Perhaps in the future, should she have something important to say, she shall make herself heard. That is the way of those who walk the Third Life. They live outside of this world, apart from time itself, and they are very capricious. Those who stay for a long time are either very good or very evil, committed to whatever work that have undertaken. The rest go to the gods eventually, not having anything strong enough to tie them to this plane."

All right, I decided. Enough existential stuff. I wanted answers. "How on earth were you invisible, before?" I blurted out gracelessly. "And…and how did you get us here?" I had looked at the map: we'd been in South Africa, the very southern-most part of the continent when they'd taken us, and now we were thousands of miles north, in the country that would eventually be called Tanzania, where Kilimanjaro is. "And how did you…did you _fly_? And make us _sleep_?"

Masudi laughed again, her brilliant teeth flashing in the moonlight. "Like this, girl. Fly like this." He flicked his fingers in a gesture that seemed to say, "get up"…

And I did.

It was the strangest sensation, as if the air itself had wrapped around me like a huge, invisible hand and lifted me bodily into the air. Jasper stared up at me as I drifted above his head, helpless, unable to move.

"How do you like to fly, little girl?" Masudi's mocking voice followed me as I floated a bit higher. "Enough?"

"Yes!" I gasped, my stomach feeling like it was in my feet. I detested the sensation of being out of control of my body, being helpless. It reminded me of those horrible human memories, being strapped to that chair…

"Set her down, Masudi!" Miali snapped. "Stop showing off!"

Masudi grinned good-naturedly and made a "sit-down" kind of motion…and I drifted back down to alight next to Jasper, who grabbed me and pulled me into his lap, his fear for me sinking in deeply.

"Masudi can control fields," Ebele said smoothly, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "Magnetism. Gravity, I suppose, in a limited way. He can lift or throw things, including people, of course. Suspend them, carry them. Even multiple people, if one of our Enhancers is willing to give aid."

"Enhancers?" Jasper asked, as if afraid of the answer.

Miali smiled. "Yes, we have a few within our family who are able to…Well, to enhance the abilities of others. Some are stronger with amplifying the physical abilities: enabling Masudi to levitate more than one person, for example. Others are stronger with amplifying the more…shall we say, intangible, abilities. Such as mine."

"You see the future, and the past as well?" I whispered, remembering her sifting through my mind earlier.

She nodded. "Yes, but not closely, unless I concentrate very carefully. I skim, I see the high points. Or low points, if I am seeing your past, child."

I shivered. She went on.

"If an Enhancer helps me, especially Ayeesha, whose ability seems to mesh best with mine, I can see much more detail, and further back or forward, and I can also see things for those I have not touched before. You see, I have more power with those I have touched." She grinned. "And I can project those images I see for others as well. I could show Jasper your past for you, if you like."

I shuddered convulsively, not daring to meet Jasper's eye. I felt his curiosity, though, and shook my head violently. "No!"

She chuckled. "This is how I saw you, Alice and Jasper. Every so often, Masudi asks me to look out, to check and see if any threats or anything unusual is coming. So I was looking, with Ayeesha's help, and I saw you both coming. You were…" She paused, her eyes drifting skyward as she looked for the words. "You were in a room…Looking at a map. Deciding where to go. And you decided you would come here, to Africa."

I glanced at Jasper just as he did the same to me, and we smiled at each other. Random chance? I doubted it. I had been Fate's friend long enough to realize things just don't happen randomly nearly as often as we'd like to think. We're just usually so shallow and impatient that we often miss the signs.

Miali went on. "Masudi was…cautious. We do not get many immortal visitors here, we have been very careful to discourage them. We do not like attention, and especially, we do not like to mingle with the rest of the immortals, especially the ones from Europe."

I perked up. "The Volturi?"

Masudi gave a low, menacing growl that made my hair want to stand on end. "Do not say their name, girl."

I stared at him, amazed and frightened by his reaction. "You…you know them?"

Ebele's lips pressed into a thin, stern line. "We know _of_ them." She exhaled irritably. "We…well, that is, Miali and I, met some of their scouts once. Several hundred years ago. They were searching for those of our kind with gifts, to try to press them into this…this _family_." She spit out the word as if it were offensive. "They call it 'family' but it is nothing but oppression. One member of the party was a Tracker, a male, he was leading the voyage. With him were two others, a male who could read gifts, and a female who could break and make bonds. A very formidable group."

I held my breath in anticipation. I knew who it was who could read gifts: Eleazar, who I'd sent to Denali after meeting him in New York. And the tracker must be Dimitri. The female I had no idea about, but I was very glad she hadn't been around when I met the others.

"The Tracker led them to our dwelling unerringly. But Miali had seen them coming, of course." She smiled fondly at her sister wife, who smiled back and reached out to stroke Ebele's cheek. "So we were ready."

Jasper's attention had been caught again. "And then what?"

Masudi rumbled. "When they came up the hill—for we were here, of course, waiting for them—Nganga blinded them, and I bound them with air, so they would submit to Ebele touching them without a struggle."

"And I touched them and took their memories of this place, and I changed them, and sent them back where they'd come from, believing they'd never found anything of immortals in the whole length and breadth of Africa." Ebele's voice was cold and satisfied.

I stared at Jasper, his eyes wide and mirroring my own shock. "You…you can…you can _change_ memories?" I managed. Ebele had mentioned being able to take away the memories she'd unlocked, but that is a bit different from creating completely new ones.

Ebele nodded. "My gift is…Well, it is a bit complex." She seemed ready to stop there, despite my rabid curiosity. After a moment's awkward silence, Miali stepped in.

"My sister wife can step into your mind. She can speak to you, yes, if you have touched, and she knows you from afar ever afterward. But that is just the beginning. She is mighty." Miali's smile was proud as she glanced at Ebele, who ducked her head and looked away modestly. "She has told me that the mind is like a tapestry, each thread going just so, of a particular color or texture…and she is a weaver. She can…she can go in and undo part of that tapestry as she wants, or pull part of it out and put something else in…Or leave nothing at all. She can make the mind shut down or wake it up. She is a master, but a gentle and merciful one."

I looked at Ebele for a long time. She was holding hands with both Masudi and Miali, looking vaguely uncomfortable with the attention, but her eyes strayed to mine and our gazes locked for a long moment.

_You must decide what you want to do with your past, Alice, _she whispered into my mind. _I cannot make the decision for you. And often the most painful thing is the most necessary thing, is it not? The thing that teaches you, and reminds you?_

I quailed at the mention of my past. I remembered feeling her examining my mind, touching and testing each part of it carefully and thoroughly. Remembered her saying that tampering with my mind too much could damage it. We needed to talk privately, later, I realized.

Jasper looked at me, concerned. I shrugged, and he relaxed a bit. "And so…so you saw us coming, Miali? But how did Ebele alter Alice's visions of the future, if they hadn't touched?"

Ebele turned her gaze to Jasper and smiled. "My Enhancer, Jamila. We each have one: I have Jamila, Miali has Ayeesha, and Masudi has Nganga. Jamila makes it so I am much stronger, I can work from a distance on someone whom I have never touched." She gave Alice a rueful smile. "I do apologize, normally I do not work so clumsily, to make such a hole in your memories as I did. But I can only say, it was what I was able to do from so far away, never having touched you."

I nodded dumbly, staggered by the woman's power. Clumsy or not, she was formidable. It struck me that there was no telling how this encounter with them would end: Ebele could just implant whatever she wanted us to believe in our heads, and Masudi would wizard us back to South Africa, or perhaps even to America, none the wiser to having been tampered with…

If we went back at all.

I held my breath and looked at them all, trying to take it all in.

Here were three vampires who were likely older than the Volturi, who as far as I had known were the oldest immortals in existence. And all three of them were powerfully gifted. They had somehow kept an entire continent of immortals out of the grasp of the Volturi for who knows how long, and they had no desire to change that status anytime soon. And here we were, smack dab in the middle of everything, and they'd just told us their secrets.

Not good. Normally one only tells things like that to someone who won't ever repeat them. Or _can't_ ever repeat them.

So what would happen to us?

***

**JPOV:**

I listened to their litany and felt myself slipping into the silent stillness that we adopt when we're overwhelmed.

Maria, during my years with her, had spoken of the Volturi with a hushed voice tinged with her resentment, but more than anything she feared them deeply. I knew she'd never conceived that anyone else could be more powerful than the Volturi. But here was another triumvirate of vampires, more ancient even than the Volturi, and all three gifted in ways I'd never even imagined. I was beginning to realize that I had only scratched the surface of our "culture."

I watched the three of them, so at ease with one another, and wondered at that. Not that the idea tempted me in the slightest, since I couldn't ever imagine sharing Alice with anyone, in any way, and she felt the same about me…but it was just odd. Another cultural difference, I supposed.

"So, what do you think the Vol—I mean, the ones in Italy, think about Africa? That it's simply some black hole?" I did a double take at my own play on words and immediately felt a rush of shame.

Ebele knew what I was thinking and laughed, ignoring the faux pas. "The party was sent out because their leader…the one whose gift is like mine—"

"But much weaker!" Miali muttered disparagingly.

Ebele rolled her eyes. "Yes, yes, sister, enough. Anyway, their leader sent them to seek immortals here because he had heard some local legends of our kind, and he wanted to investigate them. He is the kind who cannot rest, he is always seeking more and more. More information, more power, more honor. Greedy." Her lip curled in disdain.

Alice smiled. "Local legends?"

Masudi laughed. "You think Dracula is the only vampire in the world, pale girl?"

We all laughed, and I wondered where he'd heard of Dracula before. Or learned English, for that matter. They all had thick accents and odd ways of saying things sometimes, but they spoke perfectly well.

"It comes from touching the minds of my prey, warrior. I can learn their speech quickly, it is very simple to copy the information from one mind to mine. We have encountered pale ones such as yourself, humans at least, in the fast few hundred years. They have much to teach." Ebele grinned, her teeth blinding. "Then I teach my sister wife and my husband, and I help them learn."

I whistled. She was impressive, indeed.

"I want to hear the legends," Alice said. "It sounds interesting."

Miali nodded. "There are a few. But regardless of how hard we try, of course, we are known to some degree, and they make up their stories about us to explain the unknown. We do try to keep away from the humans, and that is something your Italians have right: stay away from them as much as possible. We are stronger and smarter and better than humans, but our numbers are few. And I have seen the humans grow in many ways, over these past thousands of years. Where before they were little more than animals, snuffling in the dirt, now they possess power over things we had never imagined they'd discover. Electricity, chemistry…the splitting of the atom!" She shivered a little in fear. "They are so many. If they realized our weakness against fire…

"But, our legends. Let me see." She cocked her head to the side as she thought. "Well, they have different names here. In the west, among the Ashanti and other Akan people, they call us _asanbosam_. That is the people that Ebele came from, or their forbears, I should say. Some of our family live in that area, among the trees, and they prefer to wait until prey passes beneath to snatch them up." Miali smiled wickedly. "They say we have iron teeth and hooks for legs, to hang from the trees to better grab them."

Masudi laughed, slapping his knee. "Hooks!"

Ebele chuckled too. "And then there is the adze, among the Ewe people to the west as well. They think we turn into fireflies and hunt their children. As if we would benefit at all from drinking a human child! Not enough blood to do anything but whet the appetite!" She snorted indignantly, Masudi as well.

"And then, they also call us _impundulu_, down near the Cape. Or should I say they call _you_ that, husband." Ebele caressed his cheek fondly. "The poor humans imagine him as death from above, a great iron-taloned demon that can summon thunder and lightning!"

He shrugged, a bit abashed. "So I was impulsive in my younger years…you cannot fault me for that!"

Miali giggled. "And then there is the _ramanga_, in Madagascar…The say we drink blood but also eat the nail clippings of nobles!" She shook her head. "Imagine! Nail clippings?"

We all laughed at the vastness and silliness of the human imagination.

Ebele sobered a bit. "So, yes, their leader heard of these tales, once more of your pale kind had touched our shores. That was almost two hundred years ago, when he sent those three here. But they have never returned. I must have done a good job of implanting the notion of nothing here."

"You're all so powerful, though!" I blurted out. "Why not just tell them to go and leave you be? Or, perhaps, destroy them? I am sure you have the ability to do so, I saw how many were gathered before to see us, and I am sure that wasn't every immortal on this entire huge continent! If you hate and fear them so, just wipe them out!"

I am a relatively simple and straightforward man. I see a scorpion, I crush it to prevent someone from being stung. You see a problem, you solve it.

Masudi nodded silently, and I could feel his approval: he'd wanted to do that, I realized, but his wives had overruled him.

Somehow, knowing that this huge, powerful, ancient immortal was vetoed by his wives made me feel just the tiniest bit better about letting Alice run me ragged at times.

Just a tiny bit.

Ebele shook her head. "Warriors are always so," she said dryly. "Sometimes, you must not rush directly at a situation. You must consider it carefully, from all angles, to best meet the challenge." She sighed. "These…these Volturi are a bit younger than us, but not by too much, and they are indeed powerful. We are more numerous, but our family does not wish to fight anyone. We prefer our solitude."

Then she looked at me, her eyes flashing. "But even more so, the time shall come in the future when a conflict will be appropriate, the time ordained, and the outcome proper." Miali nodded emphatically beside her, and the three spouses linked hands once more, each of them fierce and strong.

Whoa.

"There is much that will happen in the next hundred years, we must be calm and keep watch over things." Miali watched Alice and I for a moment, pensive. "You and those you shall join with soon are very…interesting. Different. You add something unique to this situation." Her eyes narrowed. "Something…unknown. An uncontrolled variable. A…wild card, I believe it is called?"

I glanced at Alice, who bit her lip in trepidation. Suddenly the eyes of the three ancient ones were trained on us in a way that wasn't gentle or even friendly. They regarded us searchingly, considering their options.

Whether to let us go or not.

"I still think they should sleep the Sleep of Punishment, Ebele, until we have had more time to consider. Surely a few years would not make a difference," Masudi rumbled. "Violation of the rules must no go unpunished. Ignorance is no excuse."

Ebele nodded slightly, studying Alice especially. "I agree. But whether they should be made to sleep or have their memories taken from them, something must be done. They cannot bear tales of us to the outside world. It would throw off the balance of all."

Miali shook her head. "No, sister wife. To detain them would be wrong. They must be at a certain place at a certain time, for things to pass as I have seen. These two, and the other ones like them, are the key for the future," she said swiftly, and I felt her panic, knew she was on our side, if there was such a thing. At least she wasn't wanting us to die…or to sleep?

"The warrior punishes himself for his lapse of self control. After all, he broke his vow to himself by slaying that human. And he has honor, you have seen it, Ebele!"

I held Alice's hand in mine tightly, and she held mine right back. We were the only solid things in this world, which had suddenly begun tilting and sliding and rearranging itself madly around us.

"Yes…" Ebele murmured, finally. "He does have honor. And he does punish himself for it." She was right: I felt my shame and self-hatred keenly, but I had to put it aside to focus on keeping us alive in this situation. "And they have made the vow to not take human life, which is why their eyes are golden now. So I suppose we could trust them to not trespass again…as long as they are allowed to slake their thirst." She chuckled. "It is not as if we have not known thirst ourselves, my loves."

All three nodded, Masudi very reluctantly, and I felt the oppressive weight of their judgment lift just a bit.

We'd live. But what about when we wanted to leave?

Masudi took us hunting, and it made up for the fear of our kidnapping. Almost.

We ran down the side of the mountain and down onto the plains, just as day was breaking. I turned and looked behind us, at the mountain blotting out half the sky, gleaming white at its summit. Ebele and Miali had remained behind, to confer with each other. The sides of the mountain were swathed in mist, but the sun was beginning to burn it off already, the heat of the morning escalating by the minute.

"Come, strange hunter. There is much to choose from here, if you prefer the blood of the four-legged kind!" Masudi made a face. "Disgusting."

"Sometimes. But it's better than the guilt," I muttered. His eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Guilt? You feel guilt at being yourself?" His tone was disbelieving, and disparaging.

I looked at him, so huge and unapologetically fearsome, his tattooed face a nightmare for any human. "Yes," I made myself reply evenly. "But not at being myself, necessarily. At taking a life."

He seemed mystified. "But, why? They are our prey! It is our nature, how we have been made!" He gestured at the grasslands; I could see, in the distance, a herd of some kind of antelope grazing. They'd do, I reasoned, but I'd been hoping for something…bigger. More fun. "Those are not for us! Surely the essence of these creatures cannot sustain you for long, you must be perpetually thirsty!"

I shook my head, felt Alice's hand on my arm. She was worried about me, about Masudi's influence on me. She was right to worry. Being confronted with someone such as he, who just lived and did not waste time worrying, and was still so old and powerful and wise despite his fiery nature…It was hard not to let my resolve waver.

But I'd promised Alice. And, more importantly, I'd promised myself.

I remembered my depression. I remembered the procession of faces of those I'd fed from. The girl in the theatre in Los Angeles. I thought back to wandering alone and consumed by a nameless guilt. Until I'd found Alice, and she'd helped me find another way.

Yes, my nature was to be a predator, that was undeniable. I needed blood, or I would die or be driven mad by the thirst. But it didn't have to be from humans. I could live this way. Yes, I thirsted more, it wasn't as satisfying…but living with that dissatisfaction is better than living with the guilt and depression, by far. I tried to explain this to Masudi.

"Hmmm." He shook his head, still a bit mystified. "Normally I might say such a delicate conscience is a sign of cowardice…" He smiled crookedly, baiting me. I struggled not to respond. "But my wives say you are a warrior and that you have honor. And they do not lie, so I shall accept it. But I am curious, how have you been a warrior?"

We began running at a gentle lope, the golden-green grass whispering with our passage. Masudi had mentioned that a pride of lions made their den a few miles away from the mountain, and had agreed to show me where. Alice was just tagging along for the fun, she would be satisfied with anything. She'd said she was saving the lions for me, to make up for the whole zoo thing.

As we ran, I told him about my history, beginning with the human war and finishing with Maria's private army. Masudi's dark face, which paradoxically glistened like a million black diamonds in the harsh sunlight, grew more and more respectful as I spoke.

"So, how many of our kind have you slain then, warrior?"

I shook my head. "I lost count somewhere after four hundred." He stared and almost tripped; I hid my amusement as best as I could. "But they were mostly newborns, made for the specific purpose of being…cannon fodder, I suppose you'd call them. Sheer numbers and strength to throw at an enemy, nothing of cunning or strategy."

"And you bear the scars of those numbers, I see." Masudi nodded at my arms: the scars caught the sunlight like prisms. His gaze traveled up to my neck, to my face, where I did have a few as well. "You bear them well. Be proud, you have fought well and lived to tell it."

Alice giggled behind us. She loved my scars, strangely enough. We'd lie in bed together and she'd trace each one separately, fingers followed soon after by her lips. She said my body was like a collection of tales, each mark telling its own story, and she wanted to memorize each of them.

Then Masudi stopped, pointing toward a large jumble of rocks on the horizon, surrounded by scrub and stunted trees. "That is where they den, Jasper Whitlock. If you seek lions, there they are." He shook his head again in amusement. "And you are lucky, actually. This season there are too many males. The king of their pride will thank you for helping thin out the ranks."

I lifted my head and smelled the air: dry grass, dust, the resinous smell of the acacia trees, and something else. Something warm and musky and fierce. Something alive and full of hot blood.

My body reacted on its own, drawn to that scent. I wanted it. And I knew the lions would be much more fun to hunt than the damn deer and such we'd been feeding on before. Even Alice seemed entranced, her eyes slitted and her mouth open a little to taste the breeze. "Go on, baby," she hissed. "Go get 'em."

I didn't need her blessing, but it felt good. We drew closer, Masudi trailing behind us, watching closely. "Go around from the east, Jasper. The wind shall be in your face, they shall not hear or scent you," he murmured.

We circled around to the east, the wind hot in our faces, the scent of the lions growing stronger as we came closer. I heard them, my senses amplified by my need and my thirst: I could hear their hearts beating, hear the grunting sounds of the females to the cubs, the low rumbling of the males as they lazed in the sun. Blood and fur and the heavy scent of predator, big strong predator. Excellent.

I jumped soundlessly up onto the rocks and looked down into the half-moon shaped hollow they shadowed. The lions lolled indolently in the grass below, the females grooming their cubs, the younger males off at the edges of the group, watching the females moodily.

Directly below me, I saw the "king," as Masudi had called him, leaning up against the rocks, his massive russet-maned head resting on his huge paws, watching his family with benign interest. He was gigantic. He was probably almost 600 pounds of muscle, sinew, bone and fur, his claws as long as my smallest finger as they unsheathed and dug into the turf reflexively. He'd not go down without a fight.

I wanted him.

***

**APOV:**

There isn't much sexier in my world than watching my man hunt. Perhaps if he hunted naked it'd be even sexier. But that'd just be uncomfortable, I imagine. Still, a girl can always fantasize, right?

When he caught the scent of those lions, it was all over but the crying. Masudi watched Jasper jump up onto the rocks with a big smile, then jumped up to join him, motioning for me to follow. He didn't want to miss the show. He was pleasantly amused by the concept of fighting a lion hand-to-hand, apparently. I was actually surprised he'd never done it before, just to say he had.

Jasper fixed the biggest male in his sights, and I felt his focus narrow down until he was aware of nothing else. The emotions I got from him were low, primal things: thirst, desire for conquest, the urge to dominate and kill. I shivered a little. Sexy, yes. And a bit frightening. But in a sexy kind of way.

Without a sound, Jasper launched himself down into the depression, right in the middle of the entire pride, landing a few feet from the big male. The cats hissed and jerked in surprise, backing away from him. The big male grunted and rose to his feet, and I realized the damn thing was taller than I was, a good four feet at the shoulder, his head towering over. I'm only 4'11". I realized then that Jasper planned to take the big cat on face-to-face, not through surprise, as he'd taken the lion in the zoo. I felt a pulse of worry and pushed it down, concentrating on Jasper. There was no way the lion would win, surely, but Jasper might get banged around a bit.

"Come on, then," Jasper hissed, dropping into a crouch. "Come on, big boy. Let's dance."

The lion stared at him, golden eyes narrowing as he, too, slouched a bit lower, hindquarters bunching in preparation to spring, a low growl building in his chest that matched Jasper's almost exactly.

Then I saw motion behind him, a flash of dusky gold, and Jasper was on his face in the dust, a lioness snarling and clawing at his back.

He'd forgotten about the females. They were the hunters, after all. And then there were the lesser males, who were all riled up and primed for a fight, to show off in front of the females, to maybe challenge the dominant male. While Jasper had been posturing with the big male, many of the females and other males had recovered from their shock and had fanned out around him, closing in on his unprotected back. The biggest female, probably the dominant one, launched herself at Jasper first. The others came right after, until it was all a big blur of golden brown fur and snarls.

"No!" I shrieked, and jumped down into the melee. I'd be damned it I let these cats damage my mate.

I charged into the middle of the fray, and it was like something had taken over my body, I completely understood how Jasper had felt before he leaped, so very base and primal.

I grabbed one lioness and flung her aside into the rock wall, where she struck with a yelp and lay still, then I jumped atop another, a smaller male, my teeth at his neck. My teeth like razors, I sliced easily through the thick fur and skin there, tearing his throat out with a great crimson gout of blood, hot a musky as it soaked us both. The lion gave a choking gasp and fell beneath me; I pushed him aside and lunged for the next.

Jasper met me in the middle, bashing two of the lion's heads together like a barroom brawler, laughing madly. He was covered in blood, his hair a haystack in a tornado, but he was grinning, lost in his element. "Alice!" he cried, thrusting the limp bodies of the lions away and reaching for me. "You came!"

Like it was a party he'd invited me to! _Men_.

"I thought—" I grunted as I stepped over their bodies "—that you needed my help! It's kind of an uneven fight!"

Jasper shook his head, still grinning crazily. "Like a newborn battle. Lots of action but not much strategy. Well," he paused, taking a long drink from one of the lionesses, "these girls are actually a lot smarter than most newborns."

I rolled my eyes and decided to drink as well. As long as I was there, after all.

Lion isn't bad at all, I decided.

Once the lionesses had been dispatched (except for the ones who had taken the cubs and run with the other lesser males), Jasper stood and faced the big male again. The cat had circled around until he was standing with his back to the savannah, probably considering making a run for it as well. When he saw Jasper coming for him, he took a step back, as if in indecision.

Then he jumped.

Jasper met him in the air, wrapping his arms around the lion's ribcage, pinning his forelegs against his body, and they fell to the ground, spitting and snarling and roaring as Jasper tried to crush the lion and the lion tried to claw Jasper to bits with his hind legs.

But it wasn't much of a contest, really. The lion made short work of Jasper's clothes (what had I thought earlier about him fighting nude? Goodness!), leaving them in tattered shreds, but even his claws couldn't scratch Jasper's skin. It hurt, I knew, but it wasn't crippling, and it sure didn't stop Jasper from smiling savagely and tightening his grip on the cat, squeezing mightily.

It was over in a few moments, the light going out of the lion's eyes as he gasped his last breath, his claws tearing weakly and spasmodically at the air as his life drained away. I turned away to give Jasper the moment alone, heard the sound of the bite and the drinking, his contented growling purr as he slaked his thirst. I had plenty to occupy myself anyway.

Masudi dropped down from the rocks and stared at us in wonder. I'm sure we were a sight, covered in blood and our clothes almost gone, both of us smiling like fools with the flush and thrill of such a battle.

"That was…interesting," he managed faintly, looking around at the scattered bodies of the lions. "Thankfully, there were too many lions this year. Some did need to die. There must always be a balance, you understand."

Jasper slipped his arms around me from behind, pressing himself against my back, and I felt his lips at my neck, still bloody, warm and slick. It was…strangely erotic, the blood and his lips and his body against mine like that, as we stood surrounded by carnage in the middle of the baking African savannah, the sun turning our skin to fields of blood-spattered diamonds.

"Mmmmm," I murmured, as Jasper's lips traced the line of my neck and down my exposed shoulder. My blouse was quite gone by now, so a lot more than just my shoulder was exposed. His fingers traced patterns on my stomach, leaving a trail of fire behind them.

Masudi was gone with a low, throaty chuckle. He knew what was on our minds.

"Come on," Jasper whispered into my ear, then he picked me up and jumped up onto the rocks, out of the devastation we'd made of the lions' den. "My lioness."

He lay me down atop the rocks, the heat of the stones seeping pleasantly into my back, the sun boiling me from above, his kiss setting me afire as he pulled away what remained of my ruined clothes with impatient hands.

"I love you, Alice," he whispered into my ear as I wrapped my arms and legs around him and pulled him into every inch of me with a gasp. Blood, the taste and smell of his skin, the sun, the wind, the heat…Alice was gone, blown away, carried away on a river into a shining place, where we were together and it was good.

Afterward, it was a bit awkward. What pieces of our clothing the lions hadn't destroyed, we'd pretty much ruined entirely in our haste to have each other. There we were, up on a huge rock in the middle of the African savannah, naked and alone, wondering what on earth to do.

Miali solved our little quandary for us, as those who see the future are wont to do. She appeared from the direction of Kilimanjaro, bearing an armful of clothing and wearing a huge, conspiratorial smile. She wordlessly handed them up to me and turned her back when she saw Jasper's face peeking out from behind me: he'd never dress in front of a strange woman.

Of course, he didn't seem exactly enamored of the idea of wearing the clothes she'd brought, either. But in the end, being covered, even if it's just with a length of bright-red cloth wrapped around his waist, won over being naked. I thought he looked rather handsome, myself.

Miali smiled. "This is Masudi's. It is traditional Masai garb, we call it shuka, and red is the color of power. You are wearing the clothing of a warrior, Jasper Whitlock. Do not be ashamed."

Jasper sighed. He didn't want to offend her, but still, I knew what it looked like to him: a long red skirt. But bless him, he didn't say anything aloud, which was good enough. I quite liked my own dress, if that's what it could be called, two long pieces of cloth that Ebele helped arrange around me into a flowing draped thing similar to what Ebele had worn, almost like a toga, in an intricate and flattering pattern of golds and greens. Miali tugged it expertly into place, then nodded in satisfaction.

"The kente cloth looks good on you. It is also sacred to the people, and these are the colors of wealth and blessings. Now, if you weren't quite so white…" she muttered, shaking her head and smiling good-naturedly. "But that is impossible. So, good enough. Come. We must still talk. There is much to discuss, now that you have quenched your thirst and …ah…hunger." She winked at me; if I could have blushed, I would have.

As we ran back toward the mountain, Miali told us more about their life.

"We have a meeting four times a year, at the equinoxes and solstices. All the immortals of our lands, our family, they come here to the mountain, and we discuss the things they have seen and heard, who has mated, who has died, meet new ones and discuss their teaching and training.

"Those are the times when we hold court. We arbitrate disputes and settle boundary issues, mete out punishment where necessary. That does not happen often, except in the very young, who are unwise and rash." Miali sighed. "We currently have five of our family who are under the Sleep of Punishment. What Masudi wanted for you."

Jasper looked up, his interest piqued. "What is that? Although it sounds pretty straightforward."

She nodded. "Those who have committed a grave wrong but not so grave as to deserve death, Ebele will touch them, and they sleep until she bids them rise. We have them hidden, of course, and protected. But when they wake, so very thirsty and weak, they will have spent years in the dark, dreaming of their wrongdoing and meditating on it." She flashed a dark grin. "We have never yet had anyone do wrong again, who has received the Sleep."

I shivered at the thought. Years dreaming about your crime? Waking up to a thirst that would probably surpass that of the newborn? I was very glad they had decided not to do that to us. I felt Jasper's emotions, and knew he thought the same.

"How many are in your…your family?" I ventured hesitantly. We had come to the foothills of the mountain, the trees thickening as the temperature dropped with the altitude.

Miali shot me a sharp look, and I realized I'd asked something I shouldn't have. I ducked my head in apology but her eyes softened. "Masudi would want to rip me to shreds if I tell you that, Alice," she said carefully. "But I suppose it's no harm to be general. We number almost three hundred in our family right now. We are the People of the Long Life." She chuckled. "Or, as some call us, the People of the Teeth."

So the majority hadn't come to see us the night before, then. I remembered that dusky throng of witnesses and thinking I'd never seen so many vampires in one place, and I never would again. But it hadn't even been half of them. I was stunned: the Volturi were a large coven, the largest we knew of other than the occasional newborn army, and Jasper told me Maria had last known the Volturi to have around twenty steady members. And that was considered huge.

Nearly three hundred vampires. But in a continent the size of Africa, with its millions and millions of humans, it was telling: our numbers were indeed few. The reality of why we needed to keep out of human's notice weighed down on me again.

The air was thinning and the cool was delicious against our skin as we neared the summit again. Masudi and Ebele waited for us at the same place, both smiling at our new clothing as we came into view.

"Good hunting, I take it?" Ebele asked gently, motioning for us to sit once more. I nodded and looked away, a bit shamefaced. They all knew what we'd been doing.

"Oh, child, don't worry about that!" she laughed, hearing my internal monologue. "We are passionate creatures. More than once have we had to return to our dwelling naked. Things happen." Masudi gave a low, rumbling laugh and stroked Ebele's arm.

I cringed. It wasn't an image I wanted to have.

"But enough of that," Ebele continued smoothly. "We have serious things to discuss. Such as what I will need to take from your mind, and what to leave." She paused. "And how long you must stay here with us."


	16. Chapter 16: Off the Beaten Trail

**Chapter 16: Off the Beaten Trail**

**JPOV:**

Now, by that point we had become fairly comfortable with the People of the Long Life…or People of the Teeth. Both were quite appropriate names, it seemed. But when Ebele looked at us so very seriously, and I felt Alice's surge of fear and dread beside me, my comfort with them dissolved and I felt my own fear prickle like a cold knife blade tracing an icy path down my spine. I surreptitiously tightened my hold on Alice, my body reacting automatically to protect her.

Ebele smiled. "Peace, Jasper Whitlock." She held her hand out to emphasize her words. "This shall be a cooperative process, not a forceful one. However, you must understand, we cannot allow you to retain your memories of our people." She grimaced ruefully. "There will be a time when we shall be revealed to our own kind beyond the borders of this continent, but that will be a time of our own choosing, and in our own manner."

Alice nodded, biting her lip in consternation. "Will it…will it…hurt?" she finally asked, her hands twisting in her lap nervously. I was surprised: I'd never seen her nervous, except upon our first meeting, and that had been a very different kind of "nervousness." Her vulnerability was almost endearing, as was her concern about pain, because both were so unusual for her. She'd never exhibited the least fear of physical pain before, not when she'd kicked Maria's ass or when she'd had to drag me off of a human while I was in the grips of bloodlust, nor when she'd helped me fight an entire pride of lions. Her body was nearly indestructible and she knew it, and she relished her strength and speed. But her mind…that was something different. She knew her mind was vulnerable as her body was not: it had been blanked out before. Alice cared for her mind like a treasured plant, nourishing and feeding it with knowledge and protecting it with her visions. Now that she'd recovered her memories, even those she hated having, she was all-too aware of that vulnerability, and she didn't want to be hurt anymore.

"No, Alice dear, it will not hurt. And I shall put whatever memories you wish, pleasant and lovely memories, in their place. Never fear." Ebele projected nothing but sincerity and concern, no vestige of dissembling, so I squeezed Alice reassuringly. She leaned into my body, and I felt the blossom of her love for me, and her appreciation for mine in return. _I'm glad you're here_, she seemed to be saying.

Miali sat down next to us and leaned across me to place her hands atop Alice's. Her complete and utter disregard for my presence was bemusing: she knew she had nothing to fear from me, so she touched us without hesitation, something any other immortal would never have done. "Alice, Jasper," she murmured comfortingly, "we have some time, though. It does not have to be today. Perhaps you would like to take some time and see more of our lands, experience your…vacation." Her full lips twitched with amusement as she shot a glance at Ebele. "I see no harm in it, Sister-Wife. They have a few weeks to enjoy Africa, I see them heading back north by the end of September. Happy and clueless."

Ebele considered for a moment, looking to Masudi for his input; the huge man rolled his eyes and shook his head in exasperation before turning and walking away, muttering something about women never being able to make up their minds. I had to suppress a chuckle: he had obviously never spent any time with Alice, who was a woman who always seemed to know what she wanted…and what others wanted as well.

"Well, I see that's settled," Ebele said placidly. "You may freely roam, but you must return to this place in mid-September to pass the Equinox with us. The Council of the Elders will be convening and will want to meet and send you on your way at that time."

I swallowed vainly against the lump that had suddenly formed in my throat. I remembered them mentioning the continent-wide meetings their people had at the equinoxes and solstices, and the idea of being presented before such a huge audience of immortals was intimidating. Then something else she'd said struck me.

"Council of…Elders?" I looked quickly at Alice, and her face was as astonished as I knew mine was. "You mean…you're not the…eldest?"

Miali laughed. "No, but almost. We are the three who are presiding over the central and southern part of Africa; we have held this position for the last thousand years. We do rotate periodically. There are six others, two sets of three, and the nine of us form the Council of the Elders. The three siblings, Mwanya, Ngo and Iwe, are watching over those who have been sentenced to Sleep, besides being the Keepers of Lore. They are the very eldest. They are more than four thousand years in the Long Life. And then there are the other three, Siti and her husbands, Adeben and Majid, who are almost as old as we are, and they are those who watch over the northern part of Africa and most of the region known to you as the Middle East. Of course, they are not the only rulers there, after all, Sakhmet—"

"Miali!" Masudi and Ebele thundered in unison. "Hold your tongue!"

Miali blinked and ducked her head, seeming abashed. "I apologize…there are some things that must be told in their time…or not at all." Then her eyes narrowed shrewdly, boring into me, then widening in surprise: I knew she was seeing something about me, about my future. I felt like I was missing something very important, something she'd begun to mention before Masudi cut her off. Who was Sakhmet? Was that what was important?

"Oh, that's fine, Miali!" Alice chirped, seeming to have missed Miali's reaction entirely. "We don't offend easily!" She rose and took my hand, drawing me up with her. "So then…we can go? For now?"

Ebele nodded. "Yes, but you must swear not to harm more humans. You have sworn to abstain from their blood, as strange as it is…But it is useful strangeness. For your own honor you must hold to your vow, and this will help you in the eyes of the other Elders who have not yet met you, to know you are a keeper of your own honor in such a way. Can you do this, Jasper Whitlock?" She leveled a stern gaze at me, and I felt the weight of it to the bottom of my boots. But wait, I wasn't wearing boots.

"Yes, ma'am," I finally managed. I'd do everything I could to keep my word. Alice squeezed my hand tightly, sending me her love and encouragement. I relaxed a little: at least I wasn't alone. I had her there to help me. Just as she had me.

Ebele smiled indulgently. "And you must also try to remain discreet, as always. Try to avoid mixing with the humans as much as possible, and try to avoid being out in daylight when you must be among them. Perhaps you should adopt local clothing, head coverings and such, where it is appropriate."

"May I…may I please have my sight back, Ebele? It would help me so much, to be able to prepare…to help Jasper, as well?" Alice ventured hesitantly. I could fairly hear the words radiating from her: _please, please, please!_

The other vampire considered for a moment, then nodded slightly, making a vague gesture toward Alice, almost like she was throwing something invisible. Immediately, I felt Alice's tension begin to drain away, her relief so thick it was almost palpable, her golden eyes taking on that faraway expression I had come to know meant she was seeing ahead. "I see no harm in it, for now at least," Ebele said.

"Thank you," Alice breathed fervently, her eyes closing as she sagged against me. "Thank you, so very much."

"So go then, my children, and see the wonders that abound in our lands. Touch and taste and smell, but with respect for our ways and for your promises, yes?"

"Yes, ma'am," I repeated, pulling Alice with me as I began backing away from the two women, who had risen to join hands and watch us go. Miali raised her free hand and waved at us; after a moment, we turned and began to run, down the slope, down into the dimness and away from the ancient ones.

***

**APOV:**

There is a saying, among humans, that I had never really understood until the hole appeared in my future memory: "You don't know what you've got 'til it's gone."

How true. I had never really understood how completely integral to me my visions were, until they were taken from me, first in part and then completely. I felt like I was blind, literally blind…And even worse, in a revelation that honestly embarrassed me a bit, I had been rendered "normal" by the absence of that second sight…and I discovered that I didn't like being "normal."

_How do they do it_? I asked myself, about the people around me. _How do they do it, getting through the pitfalls and perils of life without the slightest forewarning? Isn't it terrifying to them?_

This whole thing had turned into one huge learning experience, and it was like Ebele had told me: perhaps some things are better left alone. I wasn't entirely comfortable with my new self-knowledge: it pointed out glaringly how weak I was without my sight to stiffen my spine, and how fragile my mind really was, which terrified me.

I don't like any of it.

But, at the same time, I was really beginning to appreciate what I had been given, and wondered if the horrible memories my mind had hidden from me for all those years was the price I paid for my gift. It was honestly a kindness, the lack of memories, because now that I had them back, the weight of them was crippling, especially without my sight. Once Ebele gave it back to me, I felt better, but I was also strangely eager to have her remove the memories again. That weak part of me craved the solace of forgetfulness, the soothing quality of not knowing something horrible. I knew, once Ebele removed my memories again, I'd want to know things again, but perhaps she could help me in that, as well? Perhaps she could implant some kind of…indifference to my past? Or quash the urge to remember completely?

And then, lurking behind it all, were the new memories. Well, the old memories that seemed new to me. My life before the asylum. My life in the asylum, if that's what it could be called.

And my angel…

Jasper held my hand as we ran away, into the deepening evening. I felt the eyes of the old ones behind us until the distance rendered them blind, but I didn't kid myself: those ancients were never truly blind. They saw far too much.

"Where should we go, baby?" Jasper asked me as we ran into the sunset. The plains were golden and glowing with the setting sun, the sky red and the wind dusty and fragrant. Everything in Africa was wild and lovely and deadly all at once, it seemed. "Back to South Africa? The jungle? Egypt?" He laughed, and his hair was golden like the sun, gilded and shining with a life of its own. "Or maybe we should just go hide in a cave somewhere until mid-September, eh?"

I thought for a moment, and savored the ability to cast the net of my mind ahead and see what it caught, to taste the winds of the future again and see what they brought. A few different paths were open to us, but one was much clearer, and seemed to be calling me. Calling _us_.

"Egypt."

***

Kilimanjaro sits at the far northeastern part of what is now Tanzania, which at that time was still called East Africa, a huge chunk of land that included the territories of Rwanda and part of Kenya. It had first been a German colony, I lectured Jasper as we traveled (accompanied by many eye rolls and sighs on his part), but it had passed from the hands of the Germans after the end of World War I and became a British territory. From the summit of Kilimanjaro we had, with our sharp eyes, been able to see the vague smudge of the sea to the east, but it was north that we headed, into the vast savannahs of Kenya and into Sudan, aiming for Egypt.

We struck a leisurely pace, for a vampire, that is, walking and running at turns, stopping when the urge struck us to hunt or make love or simply sit and look around in awe. The path we'd elected to follow was essentially along the edge of the Great Rift Valley, over 4,000 miles of perpendicular cliffs and sheer mountain ridges, rugged valleys and deep lakes that traced the lines of multiple faults in the earth. We beheld some of the most dramatic landscapes on the face of the earth first-hand, and both of us were staggered by the ancient feel of it.

But we were in love and free of prying eyes, and the newness of our relationship bubbled to the surface, the giddiness of being besotted with someone coloring our travels. We played like children. It was fun to scale the cliffs and to chase each other from precipice to precipice, to see who could make it to the top of a peak first, or who could touch the bottom of a lake first. Sometimes we'd play an odd version of hide and seek, ranging for miles and miles, him relying on his sensitivity to my emotional aura to locate me, me of course relying on my sight to try to predict where he'd be. He won far too often for my taste, because he'd gotten so very good at reading me, and even more disturbingly, in eluding my sight with his last-minute decisions and mind changes.

One time, when he won three games in a row as we played in the highlands above Lake Victoria, I pouted. I wasn't used to losing. Again, I felt my weakness, my reliance on my sight, and I have to admit, I acted a bit childishly.

Just a bit. Truly, not much.

Really.

"Alice!" Jasper admonished me, flopping down beside me as I sat, dangling my legs over the lip of a cliff, my arms crossed over my chest. I think I even had my lower lip poking out in an expression I vaguely remembered my little sister Cynthia wearing so many years ago when she'd been denied something. "What's eating you?"

I refused to answer. I was wrestling with my own demons inside my head: all those memories, all the fear and pain of the past, all the fear of the future. My vulnerability, my weakness, my guilt at remembering I'd loved someone else…everything all seemed to be stewing down into a thick and loathsome stew that was only stirred to boiling by my resentment at losing a silly game. Well, three silly games. I knew I was being childish and petty, but in that moment I reveled in it.

"Is this really because I beat you at some damn game?" He took me by the chin and forced me to look at him, his eyes, so golden now, boring into mine, reaching down deep into my very soul and warming me with their love. "Or is it something else?" his face grew worried, and I felt his preoccupation: he knew something had been bothering me for the past weeks, but had respected my wishes to keep my thoughts in my head until now. "Have I…have I done something?"

"Oh, goodness, Jasper." I felt like I'd been punched in the gut: how could he think that? He was perfect, completely and wonderfully perfect in his own imperfect way. "No, baby. You haven't done anything at all."

It was _me_ that was all messed up this time, _me_ that needed comforting and reassurance, and I wasn't used to it. I didn't like feeling dependent and needy. He'd always been so good about accepting my support and help, not ever seeming threatened by my take-charge ways, when I knew his masculine ego might actually be bothered by it. But if that masculine ego pricked him, he hid it well.

He watched my face carefully, and I knew he was "feeling" me, tasting the emotional flavor of me, trying to understand it. He'd tried to describe how his extra ability worked to me many times, but that was the closest he could come to capturing it in words, comparing it to touch and taste. "Alice, you know you can tell me anything. Anything at all." And he reached up and pushed the hair back from my forehead, cupping my cheek in his palm. His hand was so big, so solid and warm; I closed my eyes and pressed against it, drawing strength from it, from him.

"I know, Jasper, but, it's so hard, I feel so…out of sorts, since I got my memories back." I sighed. "I feel…lost. Weak. Afraid."

He pulled me to him, wrapping me in his arms and holding me tightly to his chest, rocking me like a baby. "Alice, you know that I'm here for you. And no matter how you might feel right now, it's normal. You're adjusting. What you went through was awful, I guess. I'd be bothered too."

I shook my head. That wasn't quite it. Yes, the memories were horrid, but it went beyond that. But how to tell him I was afraid to be vulnerable, to trust him or anyone else with my weakness, when he'd been so open to me so quickly and easily? And would he still feel that way when I told him everything?

***

**JPOV:**

Now, I was puzzled. Alice was acting downright strange.

I remembered vaguely from my human years how fickle females could be, regarding their emotions. Lord knows Ginny had shown me some highs and lows in a record-breaking time span. Of course, men are often just as fickle, but in different ways, and they tend to shove down and hide the more "unpalatable" emotional responses and urges, which is generally unhealthy. Given my extra ability, I'd always been sensitive to the vicissitudes of the heart, which made me a particularly rare specimen of a man in the first place, I suppose, without trying to pat myself on the back too heavily. I also remembered how I'd dealt with Maria during those eighty long years in the dark with her: in general, I think I comported myself pretty well, given how completely and utterly horrible she was. I learned something of patience in dealing with her, at least, and Maria also taught me to appreciate how truly lucky I was when Alice and I found each other. I found in Alice a woman who gave more than she got, who admired me and valued me (always good for the ego, and something I'd never had with Maria), while retaining the strong sense of self that made her _Alice_. All in all, I think I am a pretty easy man to talk to, especially if the other person is her.

But now, Alice was being rather un-Alice-like, and it was very hard to understand.

We had so much fun playing during that trip north through the Rift Valley, giddy with relief at being released by the old ones and allowed some freedom, and I found myself becoming more and more infatuated with my Alice with every moment's passing. To see her tiny little form silhouetted against a crimson sky, perched atop a rocky peak thousands of feet above the ground and grinning at me with a complete lack of fear, glistening in the sun like some precious gem, I experienced something so profound I was humbled. _She loved me_. Me. She accepted me, she adored me, she protected and catered to me, all things I'd always wanted but never imagined I'd have. And here it was, so easy, like getting the entire world for a song. Having all the treasure in the universe just dropped into your lap with nothing required in return except a smile.

At first, after we'd left Kilimanjaro, she'd been so buoyed by relief and excitement her inner feelings had been buried deep, I think. However, shortly after the reality that we'd truly escaped death had sunk in, her emotions began to roil tumultuously. Yes, the joy and fun of our play had masked it at times, but not for long. Soon our game might end, and even after making love, she'd lie in my arms quiet and pensive, her heart a raging river of deep currents of fear and dark eddies of insecurity. What was she so afraid of?

I would let her be, because I'd learned in the past few months that she needed time to sort things out on her own terms: pressing her would only make her more skittish. I remembered breaking horses with Big John and my father when I'd been a boy: gentleness and patience is the key to calming an inquiet creature. Although Alice is nothing like a horse, and I didn't want to tame her, I wanted her to trust me to tell me things, and in earning that trust I had to give her space. Also, if she hid anything from me (even for a short time), it was usually for a good reason, and she'd eventually reveal it to me.

But finally, I was exasperated, and I had to ask her what the hell was going on.

You see, an empath isn't a mind-reader. I can feel what's going on inside someone, but that doesn't mean I necessarily understand their thoughts. If I know them well enough, it's not too hard to make an educated guess. For example, if some stranger nearby me is angry, I will feel their anger, but I will have no idea why they're angry. It could be they're angry at something or someone external…or that they're angry at themselves.

By then I knew the timbre and tenor and taste of Alice's emotions pretty well, but this revelation of her past had awakened something inside her that I'd never experienced before. I felt her fear and her regret and her pain and her disappointment, but I had no real idea what it was all about, except as a response to those horrible old/new raw memories.

She looked up at me with huge, fearful eyes, and I could feel her indecision. She was trying to decide whether to tell me what was going on. And that irritated me. Like she didn't trust me, again. As if I hadn't been working hard to earn that trust. But I took a deep breath and squashed that irritation down, not wanting her to be put off telling me anything because she'd felt my own irrational reaction.

"I'm scared, Jasper." Her words were like bricks, one by one, falling flat and heavy between us. She closed her eyes and swallowed before going on, giving me time to become even more puzzled. "I feel…I feel like I'm losing it. Losing my mind, that is. And I feel weak and…and…"

"What?" I kissed the tip of her nose, pushing all the encouragement and acceptance and love I could dredge up from inside me and letting it wash all over her; I felt her relax, her face softening."What? Tell me. Anything."

"I'm afraid you might not love me, if you realized how weak and vulnerable I am."

Shock. That's the only word I can use to describe what I felt then.

"Are you completely out of your mind?" I immediately regretted the words, but it was too late to take them back, and besides, it was ludicrous for her to even consider that.

She blinked. Bit her lip savagely. "Maybe?" She screwed her eyes shut, not wanting to look at me. "Who'd want someone like me? First a freak with no past. Now a freak with a past she wants to forget. The only part of me that's worthwhile is the part of me that's caused all the problems in the first place, and when I don't have it, I realize how very…I'm…_worthless_. Damaged goods."

I rolled my eyes and shook my head. "Silly woman." I ran my fingers across her cheekbone, stroked the line of her arm until I took her hands in mine. "Not to me."

Alice looked down at her hands, pulling them away from mine to wash together nervously in her lap. "Not if you realized how…how _normal_ I am, if I didn't have my sight. My mind is all defective. And I'm nothing special, if you take the sight away. Which apparently isn't that hard to do. So why would you want me?"

"Alice," I growled, and I was not just growling for effect. I was starting to get mad, and she felt it: her eyes met mine, wide and a bit frightened. I shook my head, my anger building. This was silly. I had to nip it in the bud. Such things just couldn't be allowed to take root between us.

"Alice, I'll show you exactly how much I want you."

So I took her by the arms and I pressed her onto her back, holding her against the ground by her shoulders, letting her feel the full weight of me upon her for a moment; I felt her breathing quicken as she wondered what I was going to do to her. And I looked down at her, holding her eyes with mine, and I "opened the bottle" as Alice called it. I let it all out, let the fullness of my love for her envelop her, the depth of my lust and admiration for her saturate her, the complete insanity of my devotion cover her, compounded by the weight of my physical body on hers, which throbbed with desire for her, almost constantly. And then, as her eyes began to roll back into her head, I kissed her neck.

First with my lips, feather-light, butterfly wings. I breathed against her skin, inhaled the scent of her deeply, her scent of wildflowers and rain and fresh sun-warmed linen. She shivered and sighed, her hands slipping up and caressing my back.

"Jasper…"

Then, I parted my lips, and I touched the skin of her neck with my teeth, drawing a line down the side of her lovely neck to where it curved into her sweet shoulder, grazing her skin ever so gently, until my mouth rested against her collarbone. She shuddered, her body arching up against mine, her legs wrapping around my waist and pulling me to her.

"Oh, God, Jasper…" Her need was like mine, her hands clawing at my back.

"Don't ever doubt my love," I growled into her neck, pushing more and more of my love into her as my body strained against hers, threatening to explode. "You're mine. And I'm yours."

We were both panting with impatience and need. I freed one hand to push aside our clothes, my mouth filling with venom. I took her shoulder between my teeth as I slid into her, her gasp of pleasure mingled with pain as I bit down gently on the gleaming skin and did something I'd been yearning to do for months. I marked her.

"Jasper!" she cried, as I tasted her skin, as I traced the glistening line of the wound I'd made with my tongue, assuring a scar, as I moved deep inside her like I knew she loved.

A few moments later we lay together, spent under the baking sun, and I sat up to look down at her again. She smiled up at me with closed eyes, her body a glittering expanse of diamonds in the daylight, the thin lines of my mark on her shoulder catching the rays and scattering them. I touched it with my finger, then kissed it. She shivered.

"Do you mind?" I whispered into her hair; she giggled and wound herself around me again. I knew she didn't mind my scars, strange though it was, and I knew that most vampire couples marked each other…but that didn't mean _she_ wanted to. I'd just decided to do it to prove to her how very wrong she was, ever doubting for a moment I'd think her anything less than the only one I'd ever want to be with.

"Nope." Her face grew sly and thoughtful. "So…did you ever mark _her_?"

"Ugh. Never."

"And her? Did she…?"

"Alice!"

She giggled again."Just checking." Her eyes opened and met mine. "So then, you're fair game?" She grinned, baring her sharp teeth and clicking them together. "Virgin territory, I could say?"

"Whatever." I spread my arms wide. "Knock yourself out."

"Really!" She got up to her knees and scanned my body like she was reading a roadmap. "But it's not quite fair. How will mine stand out?" She traced a few of the many half-moon shapes decorating my shoulders and arms.

"Here." I took her hand and pressed it against the hollow of my neck, just above my collarbone, which I'd always managed to protect, one of the few unmarked stretches of skin on my upper body, small though it was. "This will be yours." I smiled rakishly. "I'm the most vulnerable here. You could even tear my throat out if you wanted to. I wouldn't fight you," I joked.

Alice exhaled sharply, and I felt something like the surge of insecurity she'd been experiencing before.

"God, what now?"

She sighed. "That's…that's sort of the point."

"Would you please stop being so damn enigmatic and get it out?"

"You've been so open to me. I just feel like if you realized how much I have kept to myself, it might make you angry. You don't deserve it. But…but I…I've been so afraid to admit it!"

"Alice." I took her face between my hands, forcing her to look at me, trying to convey everything I was feeling with every part of me. "Alice, I know when you hold things back. I know when you need time. I try to give you your space and let you tell me when you're ready. And I know you're keeping a lot of things to yourself, although I don't really understand why. Do you really think I'd reject you for speaking your full mind, or what's in your heart? Do you really think I'm that easy to scare?"

She trembled. "Maybe. If you knew everything, maybe you wouldn't want to stay."

"Alice, what are you talking about?"

Her eyes were as deep as the ocean, full of doubt and guilt and fear. "Do you really want to know, Jasper? Really? Even though it might change how you feel about me?"

I was baffled. What could she possibly tell me that would do that? I couldn't imagine anything. Not when compared to the things I'd done before we met: I knew my own monstrosity, and I knew she was nowhere near capable of descending to the depths I'd sunk to before she'd thrown me that lifeline and dragged me from my own personal hell.

"Tell me."

***

**APOV:**

OK, here goes nothing, I told myself.

I told him everything that was on my mind. It took a while, and bless his heart, he sat and listened to me without ever showing the slightest sign of condemnation. As I told him about my life, about my father, about the asylum and what had been done to me, his face and emotional aura fluctuated between anger and disgust and outrage…but it was never directed at me. I was glad that by then my father and the director of the hospital were dead, because I wondered if Jasper might not take justice into his own hands. And I also was glad because I didn't know if I'd keep him from doing something we would both regret out of anger and desire for vengeance on my own part, if they were still alive.

But then…then I got to the hardest part. Talking about my rescue and changing.

Talking about my angel.

Jasper's face stilled, and he listened intently, nodding encouragingly. He was glad the other one had found me and made me safe, had nursed me back to health and protected me. Sweet man that he is, he took my hand and squeezed it encouragingly when I halted, momentarily unable to continue when I reached the point where I had to tell Jasper that the other man had loved me…and that I'd loved him in return.

He'd sensed something before, when we'd kissed after I'd awakened from Ebele's unnatural sleep. But he'd refused to ask me about it. I'd taken that to mean he was angry, that he didn't want to know. That perhaps if he did know, he might not like what he heard.

"Alice, go on, sweetheart. Don't be afraid."

So I took a deep breath and plunged in. I ignored the screaming of my self-doubting heart and I told him of how my angel and I had pledged ourselves, how he'd kissed me, in the midst of changing me…I watched Jasper's face fearfully, waiting for his anger, his disgust.

His brows knit together thoughtfully. "That…" He took a deep breath of his own. "Well, that makes sense."

I was flabbergasted. Waiting for the negativity and condemnation, for the other shoe to drop. I knew it was silly to expect it, because Jasper was such a reasonable man in so many ways. Also, those things had happened before we ever met…and I had had no memory of the other man until just recently. I knew he'd been with Maria, and even others in brief, lust-driven encounters he was ashamed of and that I didn't want to know about, ever. So he had no room to judge or criticize me for one kiss. My head told me all those things in a dry and pedantic voice, lecturing my quailing heart for its silliness.

But I felt damaged. I felt…_inadequate_. I'd been telling myself all those years I was saving myself for Jasper…but I'd been someone else's all along, even though he was now long-dead and I hadn't realized it. I felt the invisible touch of another man's hands on me, the burn of his kiss on my lips, even though they'd only kissed me once. And knowing how my sight defined me, and that without it I was nothing special…it made it even harder. What if, what if, Ebele decided to take my ability from me forever? What if plain-Jane, damaged Alice was all there ever would be?

"Alice." Jasper shook his head sadly. "Why were you so afraid to tell me that?" He sighed. "I guess you don't really trust me after all. What do I have to do to prove it to you, Alice, that I'm here and I'm not going anywhere? Ever? Unless you send me away? And then all I'd do was go and find some way to die, without you. No one else could replace you. Ever."

His face was so sad. I'd hurt him, I realized. I'd hurt him deeply.

"And how could you ever think you're plain? Or…or damaged? You're so beautiful, and so smart and wonderful, even without your sight. I love _you_, Alice, not your damned sight!"

"You don't mind? What I just told you?" I felt dumb, thick-tongued. "You don't think I'm…used?"

He swore under his breath. "Good God, Alice, it's not like you lived with the man for eighty years, is it?" He got up and began pacing restlessly, the sunlight catching his every move. "It's not as if you butchered and slaughtered and lied to and betrayed hundreds and hundreds of other people. It's not as if you lived like a savage, ruled by lust and violence for almost a century, right? Oh, no, you just let someone be kind to you when you were suffering, and you loved someone who loved you in return?" He threw up his hands in disgust, his voice dripping sarcasm and scorn. "God, Alice, how can you live with yourself?"

He was quite magnificent, prowling back and forth in his anger, gesturing madly, splendid in his nakedness. I felt the giggle rising up inside my chest and had to stifle it: he was really mad. But not because of what I'd done. Because I was being so very stupid.

"Jasper." I jumped up to reach out for him. "Jasper, I'm sorry. I wasn't…I wasn't trying to…to make you feel bad! I don't care about those things about you! All I care about is you now, here, with me!"

"Exactly!" he thundered, snatching me up and pulling me roughly against him. "Exactly," he purred into my ear, his lip brushing my new scar, which still stung deliciously. "You're such a silly little girl, Alice. Worrying about nothing at all."

"Really? You don't mind at all?"

He growled. "Did you lie to me?" I shook my head. "And you're here, now, with me, forever?" I nodded. "And even if what's-his-name wasn't dead and showed up to stake his claim now, it wouldn't matter?"

"No." I touched his face. "Not in a million years, Jasper Whitlock. I gave him up to wait for you."

"Then shut up and just accept the fact that you're mine and I'm yours, and no matter what has happened in our pasts, no matter what happens in the future, all that matters is that we're together."

And then he was kissing me again, and I was kissing him back…and then I bit his throat and left my own mark there, silvery and solitary against the unblemished skin. And it's there to this day, where it will always be.

Silliness overcome.

***

We left the Great Rift Valley behind a few days later, heading down out of the cooler highlands and down into the arid semi-desert of the Sudan. The Sahara, immense and golden and deadly, lay to the west like a slouching lion, but we kept heading north, until we found the headwaters of the Nile and began following it toward the ocean.

As we followed the course of that long and winding river, we passed the evidence of the ancient human civilizations that had sprouted up along the banks of the river years and years ago. The emotionless and regal faces of the statues of long-dead kings and queens, the embodiment of strange beast-headed gods and goddesses, the towering columns of ancient ruined temples, stood like silent witnesses as we passed, the weight of years pressing down on us with their gaze.

I felt, at times, as if we were being watched by others, but never as keenly as I'd felt the eyes of the old ones before. Someone was watching our progress from a distance, checking to make sure we didn't trespass, but with no ill will.

"What do you think about these other Elders?" Jasper asked me one night as we sat on the edge of the river, dangling our feet in the water. I knew there were crocodiles out there, but they were afraid of us, huddling in the muddy bottom, waiting for us to go. The sounds of the river surrounded us: the whisper of the water, the sighing of the reeds in the wind, the call of the birds and the drowsy hum of the insects on the warm air. "The three oldest ones sound pretty interesting."

I nodded, remembering Miali's words. Three elders, siblings, over four thousand years old. The Keepers of Lore and the ones who watched over the punished Sleepers. Mwanya, Ngo and Iwe. They sounded formidable to me.

"Where do you suppose they are? Keeping the Sleepers and all?" He glanced around as if there might be someone hovering nearby. "Probably a cave or something. To keep them out of the sunlight, hidden."

"Hmmm." I kicked out with my toes, splashing him; he growled with mock-anger and grabbed me, pulling me onto his lap. "I don't know if I want to meet them before we have to, Jasper. This whole thing is just so very strange." Something struck me, suddenly, and I turned to look at him. "Jasper, have you considered that Ebele is going to take your memories as well?"

He grunted. "Yeah…I'd thought about it, but not really _thought_ about it, you know? It's not exactly a pleasant idea, someone meddling with your mind." He shuddered a little, his brow wrinkled in consternation. "I guess they'll have to take my memories of _your_ memories, too, right? Or else that'd be too strange. I could never keep that kind of thing from you, if you asked me about it."

I considered for a moment, surprised. I hadn't thought of things that way yet. "I wonder if I'll ever be allowed to know everything? Or even if I'll want to?"

Jasper nodded sagely. "Alice, you're so curious, you're going to want to know again, even after they take the memories away. But Ebele did say they'd reveal themselves someday. Maybe then she'll let us have these memories back." He grinned evilly, his fingers slipping under the draping of the fabric of my bodice and caressing my stomach. "Not all of them are bad. Some have been…quite nice."

I purred like a contented cat as he stroked me, but my mind had disconnected from my flesh and was far away, traveling down the path he'd just laid out for me. Even though I knew it was fruitless and even potentially hazardous to even try, I'd lose the knowledge anyway, I looked ahead into the future, trying to catch a glimpse of the unknown.

Yes, someday I'd get my memories back. All of them. But the circumstances were so ambiguous I knew it was far in the future, and there was a familiar grey vagueness I'd learned to associate with Ebele's meddling. I caught glimpses of unfamiliar faces: three old vampires I somehow knew were Aro, Marcus and Caius, their faces papery-skinned and strange and covetous; others, their eyes filmy red and unfriendly as they stood in judgment. Then things vanished into a gray wall, as if Ebele had dropped a curtain over those years, hiding them from view. I had a feeling I was in for a lecture when I saw her next, and decided to abandon the attempt. It was giving me a headache anyway, or something like the human sensation I knew was called by that word.

"What, sweetheart?" Jasper kissed my cheek. "Come back to me."

"Sorry." I patted his arm. "Being silly. Let's get going. We have a ways to go, still. I want to see the Pyramids and the Sphinx, and we only have a few weeks to get there and back to Kilimanjaro by the equinox."

So we pulled our feet out of the water and headed north again, each of us lost in our own thoughts.

The heat grew and grew as we went deeper into the desert, the Nile wending through the shimmering sands like an emerald snake. We kept to the trees shading the majority of the shoreline, avoiding the eyes of the humans we began to see with greater frequency as we pressed further north, eventually switching to traveling only at night after several close calls. I did not want to incur the wrath of the Elders in any way. And besides, it was pleasant to stay with Jasper, heading into the deep desert to hunt or finding some memorable spot to make even more memorable by making love.

We were so comfortable with each other's bodies by that time, I sometimes wondered how it was possible that we didn't grow bored, as I knew most vampires do easily. God knows, when it comes to anything besides the contemplation of my husband's body and the way it moved with mine, I have to make a concentrated effort to focus on mundane details. But he felt the same way. We were never bored, it was always a delight to re-explore previously charted territory.

Then, before we knew it, we were there.

The pyramids and Sphinx sit on the Giza Plateau some distance from the human city of Cairo. The Great Pyramid, slightly off to the side from the others, towers above the others, inspiring as they are, casting long shadows against the desert sands. We waited until nightfall to scale it, nimbly scurrying up the sandstone sides until we seemed to be standing on the roof of the world, watching everything below us with awe. The desert spread out all around like a rumpled golden tablecloth, the sands glittering in the moonlight, the dunes casting deep and mysterious shadows. But more captivating than the beauty of the scenery was the sensation of the age of the place. It's something everyone should do if they can, to go and touch those ancient stones and feel where we all came from, somehow: even a vampire can feel the tug of kinship with our lost humanity when faced with those stones, handled by our ancestors thousands of years before.

Of course, that is when the watchers decided to make themselves known again. Of course, at that very moment when we were the least-prepared and otherwise occupied. Of course.

"Welcome, travelers." The voice was dry and whispery, like paper rustling in the wind, and seemed to come from inside my head; I froze in shock. I hadn't sensed anything, no presence nearby. Jasper heard it too and froze as well, his eyes locking on mine.

The voice chuckled. "Come down. And come within." It was a command, the authority undeniable but polite. My body unfroze of its own accord and I began my descent with absolutely no idea where I was going, Jasper following me down just as mindlessly.

Once we were back on the ground, the whisper came again. "Come within." And we went around the corner of the Great Pyramid, and there in the moonstruck sands was a massive hole, a cave dug into the ground, the opening dark as a starless night, beckoning us. "Come within."

Jasper's hand found mine and together we entered the cave, our hearts in our mouths.

The air was cool and dry, like the voice that commanded us. A few steps inside and immediately the night sky was swallowed up behind us as the opening disappeared, plunging us into complete darkness; I froze again, Jasper close beside me, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he wrapped me in his arms.

"Come. Do not fear." This time the voice seemed much stronger, closer even, though I still felt nothing to betray the speaker's presence: no whisper of breath or movement, no scent, nothing.

And our feet began moving again, pulling us down the sharply sloping path which, although we couldn't see, we knew led down into the bowels of the earth below the Pyramid. I was reminded suddenly of how I'd felt in the grips of the Volturi Guard Corin's compulsion: this was something like it, but infinitely more powerful. This compulsion evoked an unconscious reaction, a complete abandonment of will. I shuddered to think what could be done by someone in possession of such a gift. Good or evil doesn't matter when someone is so powerful: that kind of might makes its own definitions.

We walked blindly downward into the darkness for what seemed to be hours, but in reality it was no more than a few minutes. The angle of the tunnel eventually leveled out, until it was practically horizontal. We began to be able to see something ahead, a faint light glowing like a beacon in the oppressive darkness, drawing us toward it like a moth to flame. After a moment we realized it was a doorway.

The doorway opened into a huge chamber, hundreds of feet high, the ceiling and floors smooth sand. The room was lit with a placid light from sources we couldn't see: it was as if the sand itself glowed. The chamber was roughly circular, several hundred feet across.

And scattered across the sands were other vampires, twelve of them, still as death, in various states of repose, their eyes tightly closed, their faces tight with anguish as they dreamed about their crimes while in the grips of the Sleep.

I shivered as I looked at them, thinking that Ebele had done this to them. I wondered how long they'd been like this, and even what they'd done to deserve such punishment, even though I knew it was no business of mine.

Or was it? Shouldn't I know what was a punishable offense? To keep from making any more mistakes?

"Come closer."

This time the voice was louder, closer, the urgency buzzing like a bee in my ear. Jasper and I stumbled forward, winding between the slumped bodies of the Sleeping vampires, trying not to look down and see their faces. I looked up, and for the first time I saw them. Or maybe I should say Them? The capital letter fairly screamed itself at me as I locked eyes with them, their gazes drawing me forward like magnet and iron.

The three of them were sitting cross-legged against the far wall of the cave on mountains of brightly-embroidered pillows. They were small and very dark and wizened like raisins in the sun beneath the vampiric pallor, their eyes such a dark red they were almost the black of deep thirst, but I knew better. Their skin was strange, a papery texture that intrigued me until I realized where I'd seen such before: the Volturi I'd glimpsed in those truncated visions of the future had similar skin, a texture like old parchment, or brittle limestone, delicate-seeming, as if one could crumble it with a careless touch.

_Is that what we'll look like when we're old?_ I wondered fleetingly, and knew Jasper thought the same thing. And why hadn't Ebele and Miali and Masudi looked like this, when they were older than the three Volturi?

"Excellent question, young Alice."

The voice came from the female, who sat in the middle, between the two males who I remembered distantly were her brothers. Iwe. She was the smallest of the three, tinier even than me, her hair shaved close to the scalp, and she wore a deep red garment like Miali's with so much gold and ivory jewelry that hardly any skin showed at her arms and neck. She smiled at me, her teeth blindingly white between her dusky lips, her face crinkling up in a way that made me think erratically that it might blow away in a stray breeze.

Iwe cackled. "Not quite, young one. Not quite. But perhaps, should the wind be strong enough…" She elbowed the male on her right, who rolled his eyes in irritation before fixing me with his magnetic dark gaze.

He was the largest of the tiny trio, but was barely taller than I was, I thought, though he was heavily muscled, his skin a bewildering maze of tattoos and gleaming scars. Some of the scars seemed to have been inflicted purposefully, such as the horizontal parallel slashes across his cheeks and the zig-zagging lines down each forearm. He, too, wore gold at his wrists and in his ears, but not nearly so much as his sister. He wore a black version of Masudi's garment, and he held a staff of some strange wood, a deep black, gnarly-grained wood polished to a high gloss, across his knees. He was the one who'd spoken into our heads and compelled us to come, I was sure of it. He smiled indulgently, as if I were a spoiled grandchild who'd answered some silly riddle and earned a treat. "Good, Alice. Good." And I knew he must be Mwanya. Somehow.

Jasper gripped my hand painfully, reminding me of his presence. I could feel his fear and resolve: he was preparing to defend me at any costs, should it come to that. These unutterably ancient and obviously powerful beings frightened him, and like any defender worth his salt, when he is afraid he shifts into high gear, full speed ahead and damn the cannons.

"Just so, Jasper Whitlock. Just so. Peace, warrior." This was from the other male, who I knew must be Ngo. He was scarred and tattooed like his brother, slighter-built but still powerful, but his whole demeanor radiated calm. What he said was so like what Miali and Ebele had said to us, I automatically relaxed, even before Mwanya bade us both to calm down, his cool, dry voice echoing in our minds. "Loyalty and honor are wonderful things, but there is also room for wisdom in the art of war."

"Why have you brought us here?" Jasper managed, his voice cracking on the last syllable, ignoring the other's words. "We…we have kept to your guidelines. Have we trespassed again?"

Iwe smiled again, shifting slightly on the pile of multi-colored pillows that comprised her throne. "No, no, fear not. We just felt that we should meet you before the equinox. Test you out, I suppose." Her voice was sweet but also dry, something like the memory of dried cherries and plums. "The future holds many surprises, and we have been startled to find our fates so bound to others who are so strange and new to us." She grinned wryly. "That is something quite unusual for us, to encounter something new, after so many suns on this earth in the Long Life."

I studied her face, which held nothing but indulgence and intense curiosity. She grinned merrily at me, and I felt curiously at ease…and oddly, I felt as if I wanted nothing more than a big hug from her. She seemed, bizarrely, to embody everything warm and wonderful, the archetypical grandmother…albeit a grandmother who'd drain your blood at a moment's notice.

"Hee hee!" she cackled again, swatting Ngo's arm. "I told you, she is special! So is he! Fate has chosen wisely."

Ngo regarded us with something much more resembling skepticism. "Perhaps." Mwanya chuckled too, but didn't speak, peering intently at Jasper, who returned his gaze, but with a bit more trepidation.

"Can you read our minds?" I finally asked, glancing from one ancient to the other. It's always good to know when that's happening, I decided. You're more apt to mind your thoughts when you know you're being listened to.

Ngo nodded slightly. "But only here, in the Hall, and if you know how to use it. This is a…magical place, for lack of a better term."

Jasper looked around wonderingly. "Did you build this place?"

Ngo shook his head, looking around as well, with something like wistful curiosity. "No. We found this place many, many years ago. We think the Elder Ones made it, and like all the Holy Places the Elder Ones cherished, it is imbued with a different kind of energy. We can tap into it, but we do not understand it."

I stared at him. "Elder Ones?"

"The ones who were here before us. Humans call them gods. They disappeared long ago, leaving their stories behind. But we know they were real, the auras lingering after their presences left this plane are too strong to deny." Iwe rattled the bracelets on her left hand idly. "But enough of that. It is a tale for another time. Come here, Alice. Let me see you." She crooked one wizened finger at me, and I felt Mwanya's compulsion push me forward, stumbling, 'til I stood close to the old woman, and I dropped to my knees to meet her eyes.

"What think you, brother?" Iwe glanced at Ngo. "Are these vessels fit for the tasks to come, worthy and true?"

Ngo considered me, then Jasper, who I could feel behind me, straining furiously against Mwanya's compulsion to stay back, I thought. I wondered what Ngo saw in us, what he was doing. I knew it was more than simply looking us over.

"Yes. Young, immature, impulsive…but also with good hearts, sharp minds, honor and strong wills. Wisdom is gained with experience, maturity comes with time…but a good soul is innate."

Iwe smiled, reaching out to touch my cheek. I forced myself to not jerk away from her touch, the skin felt so cool and dry, so strange. Iwe chuckled. "Do not worry, Alice. I know we appear very odd to you."

"Why is your skin like that?" I was shocked by my bold impertinence and immediately regretted the question, but thankfully, Iwe didn't take offense.

"We have sat still for a long time, child." She took my hand and turned it over to consider my palm, resting her tiny dark one against it, to illustrate the contrast between us.

Mwanya continued for her. "Our kind is made to live practically forever: our skin is a mineral-tissue composite that is very strong and yet still supple, but should we stop being so active, it becomes…hard, inflexible, breakable. Think of oiled silk, or good leather: those materials, when used frequently, remain soft and malleable, but when you leave them in a closet or on a shelf for too long, they toughen, become stiff and brittle. As is our skin. This is one reason our kind is so naturally active, almost frenetically so, we must be so, to keep from aging thus." Mwanya sighed, holding out his hands to illustrate his point.

"Perhaps, should we venture back out into the open world again for long, live like our other people, we might revert back to our former state. But we have a solemn duty entrusted to us…and honestly, it has been a long, long time in the Long Life for us, and we want nothing more than to rest and watch and advise the People."

The Volturi have skin like you, but their eyes are different. They are younger, though." Jasper stared at the three old ones intently as I spoke about the Volturi; I hadn't mentioned my visions of the future when I'd glimpsed them.

Ngo's lip curled in contempt. "The Italians have sat in contemplation of their own divinity for many, many years, and it has aged them prematurely. As did the Romanians, original children of the Mother. But the Romanians, at least, roused themselves after the Mother's death, and it halted the process. Their eyes are clear, while the Volturi grow blind in their sedentary arrogance. It shall be their undoing, someday."

I shivered at the sound of his voice, at the brooding anger and heavy judgment. But my mind snatched at the references to the Romanians, whom Corin had mentioned years ago in New York, and even more tantalizing, who was this Mother? "Why…why do you hate them so?"

Ngo sighed. "Many reasons, child. Some are not for you to be concerned with. But to put it succinctly, they reach too far and for too much with no reason beyond greed. They presume and pretend to honors they have not earned. They enforce their will on others without earning the respect and loyalty by any others means but oppression and violence. They covet and plot; especially their leader. His hubris is beyond belief."

"But the poor quiet one…" Iwe murmured, shaking her head sadly. "There is still hope for—"

"Shh, sister." Mwanya touched her arm, and she closed her mouth quickly when she would have gone on.

Iwe's eyes returned to my face, her head tilting to the side as she thought. "Alice, you did not see this happening, did you? Coming here to visit us, that is?"

No, I hadn't, and it was extremely irritating. She chuckled.

"That is due to the effects of this place. It keeps itself secret from all who seek it, whether consciously or unconsciously." Iwe patted my hand. "And you were seeking it, whether you realized it or not. Or, should I say, you sought _us_, and this is where we stay, except to feed, which is not very often anymore."

"They meant no harm." Ngo's pronouncement was flat and completely sure, and once again I wondered what he'd been seeing in us.

"I know." Iwe rose gracefully from her pillows. "Come. I want to show you something." She pulled me with her as she began threading her way through the maze of Sleeping vampires, and I was amazed at how light and effortless her movements were, as if she were made of nothing but air. Jasper, who must have been released by Mwanya to follow us, grabbed my other hand. I felt the warmth of his love and the jagged edge of his nervousness.

"Come." Iwe had led us to the other side of the cavern, to another doorway near the one we'd entered through, a doorway I hadn't noticed before. Iwe touched the smooth sand wall, and the room beyond began to glow with the same benign glow as the central chamber. She tugged my hand, pulling me inside, and Jasper with me.

This room was smaller, and there were no Sleeping vampires decorating the floors. In fact, the floor was bare smooth sand, like the walls of the big chamber. But the walls here…They were alive with vivid images, painted somehow onto the sand in colors that seemed to breathe.

"This is the story of our people, Alice and Jasper." Iwe's voice was hushed, reverent, as she turned to the left and faced the pictures. "Start here, and see how the People of the Long Life have used their years."

Jasper and I turned to look, our hands clasped so tightly the grip was painful, but I didn't care, because the pain kept me grounded as we lost ourselves in the pictures.

"Here is the Mother." Iwe pointed at a figure rendered beautifully, a tall woman placed among the step-sided ziggurats of Sumeria I remembered from my ancient history texts. The woman was fair-skinned, her hair a rippling waterfall of red-gold curls. She stared at us, haughty and unashamed, her eyes flaming red, her skin somehow glistening with the diamond-like facets of our skin in the picture. "Lilith."

I'd heard the name before, but Iwe didn't wait long enough for me to give it much thought before she went on, drawing us further into the chamber.

"She came from far away, the first of our kind, made by the Elder Ones, although it was an unforeseen thing, and she was cast out for her strangeness and for her offenses, supposedly, though we do not know the story. She made Ngo. He was one of her first children, after Sakhmet and Cain."

The names jarred me. Sakhmet was a goddess in the Egyptian pantheon, and I remembered Miali mentioning her before we'd left them. And Cain? How could I not know that name?

"Ngo made Mwanya and myself, he could not bear for us to be separated. We three were born together and shall always be together. I am not sorry." Iwe smiled fondly. "We have had many, many good years, my brothers and I." She indicated a depiction of Ngo, flanked by herself and Mwanya, although their skin was not aged, as it was now.

I nodded dumbly, following her.

"After she made Ngo, the Mother left these lands, telling us to care for them, and to only make others like us if we felt them worthy." Iwe's eyes were sad as she touched the pictures of others, immortals I had never seen before. "Some were mistakes. Some were not. Most went their own way and perished. Some stayed and became the core of our family." She smiled again, pressing her palm against the wall, and I saw Ebele and Miali and Masudi among the crowd depicted there, as well as three others, a woman and two men, who I was sure must be the other three Elders, Siti and Adeben and Majid.

"Years passed. Traditions were born. Wars were fought, peace was made. But the nine of use stayed constant to each other and our family." The length and breadth of Africa paraded before us, green and verdant jungle, parched and deadly desert, rolling plains and jagged mountains, but in the midst of it all reared Kilimanjaro, wreathed by clouds and snow, the place to speak to the gods, Masudi had said. The place they might answer back.

"We do not rule by conquest and force. Yes, we have laws, but they are clearly defined, and they are for the good of all. We do not punish with death unless it is impossible to reform the offender. That has not happened in many, many suns." Iwe shook her head ruefully. "We do not make new immortals unless they desire it, and even then, it does not happen often, for immortality is a burden not easily borne, with the responsibilities it entails. And when a newling is made, it is certainly not because we covet their innate talents for the furthering of our empire."

She touched the picture of the Volturi expedition, hundreds of years before. "That is why we are different. We are secretive, yes, but it is because it is better to remain hidden and not cause problems with the humans. They are our food, yes, but they are also like us, they are what we were before, and must be treated fairly and with compassion. The Italians…well, they simply think they are better than everyone else."

Jasper nodded, his eyes locked on the Volturi, as if trying to memorize their faces. I resisted the urge to tell him to not bother, we wouldn't remember this later anyway, but I just couldn't be that much of a killjoy. He was fascinated. Learning his enemy, the powerful foe he'd heard of at Maria's knee years ago.

"But our kind is not better. We are different. This is the rule of the universe: we exist in this world with others, and our actions and reactions influence those of others. We are not alone in this life, regardless of how strong or powerful or fast we are. We are predators, but anyone who knows the ways of nature knows that the lion are not any more important than the gazelle, or even more important than the insects or the grass. We are all part of something much bigger, and to step outside our role and try to take command…this is madness, and it is evil."

Ngo's voice startled me, coming from right behind me. Jasper snatched me to his chest protectively, growling; I rolled me eyes and pushed against his hands. The old vampire smiled at us tolerantly, the scars on his cheeks crinkling, reminding me of the striations of drought-stricken earth, cracked by the heat of the sun.

"And one day, you'll deal with them?" Jasper's voice startled me too.

Ngo smiled again, but this time it was a sly, cunning smile. The smile of a man who contemplates a revenge long-planned and soon to see.

"Well, we shall see."

"And we have something to do with that, right? That's what's going on here. You people have kept yourselves hidden all these years, but I know you're planning on coming out of the closet soon. And I also know you plan on letting the Volturi know they're not the biggest dogs on the block after all."

I couldn't help myself, I giggled like a little girl, imagining Aro, Caius and Marcus as poodles squared off against the nine Elder Rottweilers.

Ngo laughed too, the slyness draining away. He looked at me for a long moment, his lips pursed thoughtfully. "Alice, you are a deceptive creature. I have never seen your like."

I bristled. Deceptive? Jasper stiffened, feeling the beginnings of my offense.

Ngo held out a placating hand. "Not in the way you think, child." He drew closer and put his hands on my shoulders. He was short, very short, for a man: his eyes were level with mine. But don't misunderstand me: even Emmett might think twice about challenging someone like him, short or not.

"You are deceptive in the way a mountain pool is deceptive." His squeezed my shoulders. "Like a beautiful little pool, you are lovely and alluring, you seem to have no depth, you exude ease and peace. But let no one ever think that this sweet child, this calm little pool, is shallow. There are depths to you that will never be plumbed. Men drown in those depths, arrogant, thinking they have nothing to fear."

I was nonplussed. Was that a compliment?

"Yes, it is."

Jasper laughed quietly behind me, his fingers twining with mine. "Consider me drowned," he whispered into my ear, and I felt a bit better.

"And you, warrior." Ngo took a deep breath, seeming to choose his words carefully. I felt Jasper stiffen against me, preparing for the worst.

"You, Jasper Whitlock, are a very unusual specimen. Reared to be honorable and law-abiding, you were taken against your will into a life of murder and conquest and dishonorable deception by someone who pretended to love you."

Jasper flinched, his emotions ragged, but Ngo kept on going.

"You have done things that you will regret until the end of your time in the Long Life. You have gone completely against the things you were trained to do as a child. You lived in a way that tortured your soul. But your body rebels against your choices to do things differently, and you are ashamed of your weaknesses."

Jasper nodded, his breath coming in gasps. I refused to look at him, to humiliate him by actively witnessing his pain.

"You are the strongest man I have ever met, Jasper Whitlock." Again, that flat pronouncement, undoubtable and irrefutable. "I could not do what you have done, after living so many years enslaved to the siren song of human blood. Such abstinence is unheard of." Ngo shifted his dark gaze to me. "You fed on humans for a while, but you found your own way to this…peculiar diet. Your others, the ones you seek, were begun by a man who refuses to take human life, and who never has, except in the role of doctor or savior. He is to be admired. But none of your family has grown accustomed to human blood for more than a few years of rebellion to the ideal, no?"

I shook my head in agreement.

"So, this man here," Ngo indicated Jasper, "who has lived for almost a century as a slave to his body, as we all are, made the decision to change, and has kept to it more successfully than anyone could ever have imagined, yes?"

I nodded. Yes, Jasper was wonderful.

"So be kind to him. Be merciful. He has done something that the Elders, the Eldest of the Long Life, could not do, would not do. Be proud."

Yes, I was proud. I turned and put my arms around Jasper, pulling him to me as he so often did to me, and I did my best to open my own bottle and let him feel it. It would be like a lion suddenly, spontaneously deciding that he would keep to a diet of lettuce and broccoli. I knew that if a lion were caged and only offered lettuce and broccoli the lion would soon starve to death: it would never occur to him to eat the leafy green garbage.

But _my_ lion did.

"My brother can see to the heart of a man or woman." Iwe laid her hands on both of us, as Jasper and I held each other. "He can tell whether you speak truth or lies, what your intentions are, what loyalties sway you. He is the judge and jury, but he only passes the judgment that your own heart has already rendered."

Oh. So that's what he'd been doing. Scrutinizing our motivations, looking into our hearts. At least I had nothing to hide there. I hoped.

"So why bring us here? Why show us all these things, tell us all of this, if it will only be taken from us in the end?" Jasper muttered. "Do you just like being secretive? Or does the power to take this from us excite you?"

I smacked his shoulder in reproof, but Jasper's words didn't seem to bother Iwe or Ngo, who simply looked at us for a long moment, as if trying to decide what to say.

"Someday, you will be allowed to remember. And that will be important: that you came here and heard these stories, and you understood something of the importance of the secret of the People of the Teeth and still consented to keep it. We shall not take things from you. Consider it like hiding something beneath a veil. Someday, the veil shall be lifted, and you shall connect all the pieces of this puzzle, and feel proud to have put it together."

I wished I could feel so secure. I knew better than to doubt them. I was excited for the future and what it might hold, but at the same time, I was terribly afraid of their power, and especially afraid of letting them take my memories again.

"It is time to go, brother and sister. Bring them here to me, so we may prepare them." Mwanya's voice could not be denied, even by his siblings. We all left the room with the vivid pictures, to eventually stand before Mwanya, who had risen from his cushions and was regarding us coolly, his staff planted firmly on the sandy floor.

"Lie down now, Alice and Jasper. This will not hurt for more than a few moments."


	17. Chapter 17: Out of Africa

_***Author's note: Dear Readers, I'm sorry it has taken so long to get this dang chapter out. I moved, put all 4 kids into school, got very sick (pneumonia, bronchitis and asthma, hospital 4 times…), my husband got sick, and I also developed a terrible case of writer's block with this chapter for some reason. But nevertheless, here it is, and I promise the next one won't take nearly so long! Please comment to let me know you're still out there. Thank you, to all the ones who sent me emails asking me if I was ok, pleading for an update, and even the mildly threatening ones: they got me motivated! I hope you enjoy it. JB**_

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**Chapter 17: Out of Africa**

**JPOV:**

Whoa.

"_This won´t hurt for more than a few moments?"_

My mind reeled as my traitorous body obeyed Mwanya's words, moving meekly to follow behind the other two elder vampires, and Alice fell in line behind me. But with every step my horror and rage built, battering ineffectually at the insides of my body, which had suddenly become a cage confining me, a mindless vessel bearing me to an unknown and painful fate. We slumped to the ground before Mwanya, face-down in the cool, glowing sand. I had never felt so exposed or vulnerable in my life.

Mwanya's rich chuckle filled the vastness of the cavern where he and his siblings dwelt. "Peace, Jasper Whitlock, be calm. Nothing calamitous will befall you or your lovely mate."

I lifted my head to look him in the eye, trying to project my defiance and mistrust. I felt Alice behind me, her own trepidation flowing over me: I didn´t care what their intentions were, they weren´t going to hurt her. Even for only a few moments.

Mwanya shook his head. "I understand your feelings, Jasper. But listen: this is nothing but a formality. It will all make sense eventually."

"Jazz, calm down." Alice's small, sharp fingers slipped around my upper arm, squeezing tightly. "There´s no danger. I see that."

I took a long, unnecessary breath to try to calm down. "Then what is going on?" I hissed. I despised being face-down in the sand, helpless, trapped.

"Relax." Iwe spoke from above us. I felt hands tugging at the folds of the ridiculous red garment I was wearing, exposing my lower back. My rage and fear expanded exponentially as a cold palm pressed itself to the base of my spine. "You must simply be given something to remind you, when the time is right."

Clear as mud, as my father used to say.

Mwanya stood up and crossed the sand to stand over us, then held his strange, dark staff over us for a moment. He muttered a few words in some guttural, unintelligible tongue. Iwe's hand lifted away, and strangely I felt even more exposed with its absence. Then Mwanya touched the tip of the staff to my back. A mere brush, no more than a whisper, a breath, a feather.

Oh, my Lord, but that hurt.

I have no idea what that staff was made of, or why it burned me when it touched my skin. All I knew was that for that moment, it was as if all the fires of hell were concentrated into that small spot of pressure, and I swear I smelled the heavy, cloying scent of burning vampire.

And _I_ was apparently the vampire that was burning.

The pain was so intense that I couldn´t even scream; I froze in mute shock, suspended in an eternal moment where all there _was,_ was pain. It was like the raging inferno of the change, distilled down and focused into that tiny point at the base of my spine.

But then it was over, and the pain was gone, as suddenly as it had come, and the void it left behind was filled with a relief so profound it ached, and I wanted to weep. Then Mwanya stepped over me, and touched the staff to the instep of Alice's right foot.

I fought against the iron bands that seemed to hold me to the earth with all my might, but it was fruitless. I couldn´t even shift my head to look up at Alice's face, but I saw the rigid tension of her body, felt the anguish of her pain as she endured what I had just endured. That was another eternal moment of pain for me, but it wasn´t my body that felt it, it was my very soul that burned as she was hurt.

"There. That wasn´t so bad, was it?" Iwe's voice came again from above me. "You can release them now, I think, Brother."

"Not so bad?" I growled, surging to my feet and lunging for Alice, to scoop her up into my arms and hold her tightly against me. "What the hell are you doing?"

The three Elders blithely sat down upon their cushions and regarded us calmly. "You have been marked. Where the staff touched you, there will always be a scar," Mwanya finally said.

"And what good will that do? You´re taking our memories from us anyway, right?" I shook my head, ignoring Alice's murmured placations. "What good does one more scar serve, especially one I can´t even see without a mirror? And why on Alice's foot?"

Ngo chuckled. "Precisely the point, Jasper. Yes, your memories will be hidden from you. But one day, as we have told you, you will be allowed to remember, and there will need to be a thing that will…hmmm…jog your memory, as they say among the humans? That thing will be triggered by the realization of these new scars. Do you often contemplate the small of your back? Or does Alice often gaze upon the sole of her foot? Both are very out-of-the-way places on the body. Easily ignored.

"You will both notice those scars in passing, as lovers do, and you will wonder where they came from, but not be too preoccupied by it. After all, Jasper, you have many scars. And Alice will once again remember nothing of her life before she became immortal, so she will shrug the scar off as something unknowable. But someday, someone will come to remind you of your time among us, and they will point out the scars as a proof of the things long-buried, and all of your hidden memories will return."

I froze again, trying to digest it all. I felt Alice reach around my chest, her fingers slipping down my spine, to touch the scar there, round and slightly depressed. I winced: it still stung.

"May we go now?" Alice spoke for the first time, her voice sounding strained. She pushed against my chest, letting me know she wanted down, and I unwillingly allowed her to stand.

Ngo nodded, and I felt my whole outlook on life brighten for one brief moment, at the idea that we could go, get away from all the strangeness. "Yes. But not alone." The brightness was immediately snuffed. "We will travel with you, for the time of the meeting is at hand. We must be at Kilimanjaro on the eve of the Equinox. We do not have much time."

Alice sighed, and her disappointment was a twin to my own. We were both very ready for all the intrigue and mystery to be over and done with. The impending memory wipe was something I was actually looking forward to with an odd kind of anticipation: at least then, we´d be free again, just Alice and I, to live our lives in blissful ignorance. At least for a while.

"Come now." Iwe swept past us and drew us with her, out through the glowing hall and up into the pitch-black tunnel leading back up to the surface. We came out into the open suddenly, unexpectedly, startled into stillness again by the sight of the pyramids drenched in silvery moonlight. _How long had we been underground_? I wondered fleetingly, thinking that the moon was further along in its phases than it had been before we descended into the cavern of the Ancients…wasn't it?

Did I mention before how I disliked all the mystery and meddling with minds and memories?

"Now, to conceal the cave, and safeguard the Sleepers," Mwanya murmured from beside me, making me jump a little in surprise. I hadn't sensed him. He made a vague gesture with the staff, and I watched the cave entrance sink into the sand, until it was no more but a shallow depression among the dunes, completely unremarkable. I had to really convince myself that it had ever been there in the first place. I felt Alice's fingers curl around my own convulsively.

"Now, we shall go!" Ngo rubbed his hands together eagerly, flashing a grin at us. "Ju'mai!" he called, glancing around as if expecting someone.

And then, someone was there. Well, several someones, actually.

"Yes, Grandfather, we hear." Seemingly out of thin air, other immortals appeared, long and lean, swathed in pale robes from head to foot, only the glittering eyes and teeth catching the starlight. There were seven of them, nearly indistinguishable from one another, although I wondered whether the smaller, slighter three were female.

"It is time?" The tallest robed figured spoke, inclining his head respectfully.

Ngo clapped his hands. "Yes, my children, the time is at hand. You must bear us and our guests to the Mountain, Ju'mai."

The tall vampire regarded us dispassionately, then shrugged. "As you wish, Grandfather." He gestured to the others, who moved to surround us, matching up with us, until we were all standing in pairs: Ju'mai with me, a tall female with Alice, three others with the Eldest, leaving two to flank the whole group. I looked at Alice and saw her eyes were a bit wild, and wondered if she could see what was coming.

A low chuckle rumbled beside me; I turned to see Ju'mai, his hood cast back across his shoulders, smiling a bit mockingly. "I can taste your trepidation, pale man. But do not fear, we shall bear you well and safely."

"I'm not afraid," I growled back.

"Oh no?" Ju'mai grinned, the effect of his white teeth startling in his dark, exotically planed face. "Let us see, then!"

And then I was in the air.

Now, I have always been a down-to-earth kind of man. And that particular characteristic of my nature has never seemed so outstanding until that moment, when I was suddenly hovering in midair, several hundred feet from the ground. I know the fear, because that's what it was, really, if I'm man enough to admit it, was irrational: as a vampire, I'm practically indestructible. A little fall from a few hundred feet…hell, even a few _thousand_ feet, isn't a big deal.

But dammit, I should at least have some choice in how and why I got so high up. At least a, "hey, brace yourself," or something. My dignity was seriously dinged, my ego bruised.

Ju'mai's laughter rang around me; he drifted a few feet away from me, appearing perfectly comfortable. "How pale, like the moon! How like you the sky, white one?" I struggled to gain control of my wayward limbs, but more than anything, I longed to bridge the gap between us and perhaps rip something important from his body and throw it as far as a could.

"Ju'mai!" Iwe's voice cut through the other's humor like a hot knife through butter. "Stop antagonizing our guest! Behave yourself, as is befitting a Guard!"

He winced. "My apologies, Jasper Whitlock."

I forced myself to be gracious, even though it was harder than I'd ever imagined, especially when I heard Alice's giggle from behind me.

"Oh, baby, calm down! This is wonderful!" she trilled, and somehow managed to do a pirouette, a graceful little dancer silhouetted against the stars. I realized that the entire retinue was now airborne, all regarding Alice and I with bemused expressions.

"So, now we go." And we went, somehow propelled through the cool desert night, the land streaking past at an unimaginable speed.

After a while, my ego not smarting nearly as much as it bad been before, I turned to Ju'mai.

"How exactly does this work?"

He glanced over at me. "The flying?" I nodded. "Well, I suppose you have met Masudi? You have seen his talent?" I nodded again. "It is similar to that. Manipulation of fields: energy, magnetism, gravity, repulsion, however you wish to call it. We are Movers."

"Movers?"

Ju'mai nodded. "There are multitudes of talents, abilities, each one is special to its bearer, although some of our kind have none at all, but we have found that it is uncommon to be truly _un_talented: there is almost always something in the person that comes through in the Long Life, their gift, their specialness. Even though the gifts are all individual, many are similar enough to one another that they may be grouped together for the sake of classifying them. My ability is in the area of the handling of fields, as I said. I move things. Many of us can: we can lift objects or people, suspend them in the air or move them about. Flight is simply that, moving you into the air, holding you there, moving you along. It is very easy to do. Some of us are better at this, while others have a difficult time making objects fly but are good at other aspects, such as establishing boundaries or breaking down obstacles, or making things become invisible to the naked eye."

I felt Alice's presence, her love warm next to me as she clasped my hand. "So there are Movers. What else is there?"

This time Iwe's voice answered. "Well, children, there are those which are less easy to define, and we only have our particular names for them." Her eyes grew distant as she thought. "There are the Seers, like yourself, Alice, and like Miali, who can glimpse the future in some way. They are not very common. There are those who have offensive gifts, which can usually only be used as weapons, and those are Soldiers. There are those of us who can hear the thoughts of others, and sometimes speak to the minds of others, although they do not necessarily go hand in hand; we call them Listeners or Speakers. Some of our kind can know things, such as when they are lied to, or what direction to go or not to go, and they are Trackers or Hunters or Judges, such as Ngo. And then there are of course those like Ebele, or like Mwanya, who have an ability to actually manipulate the fabric of the mind and memory and compel obedience, we call them Weavers, for lack of a better phrase, for they plait and tie and weave the reality of the ones they touch with their ability."

"What about Jasper? What would you call him?" Alice asked, grinning at me. I stuck my tongue out at her, not liking more attention brought upon me.

Iwe nodded to herself, considering. "Your mate is a rare specimen, child. His talent is something like Ebele and Mwanya's, in the fact that it involves manipulation of the fabric of another…but it is also similar to my own, in a way."

"How so? What…what can you do?" I realized then that I'd never heard her or anyone else mention Iwe's talent, although I had assumed there was something there.

Iwe smiled benignly. "I can make things grow. Or, if I must, I can make them die."

I blinked, nonplussed.

"My ability lies in the influencing of the physical body. I can make a plant bloom or wither, or an animal thrive or fail…or a human…or even another immortal. I can heal or injure, and it all hinges upon my will, my desire. It is a heavy burden to bear, one that caused much pain and suffering in others around me when I was young to this Long Life, when I was new and uncontrolled with my emotions."

Her deep burgundy eyes glittered sadly, then locked on my own. "That is perhaps one reason why you have always been so solitary, Jasper Whitlock. It is the natural state of equilibrium for those of us, empathic as we are, who are influenced so by the emotions of others…and influence the emotions of those around us, dependent on our state of mind. We are unbalanced by others, and we cause unbalance in them."

I felt as if a lightning bolt had pierced me, a heady rush of odd kinship between myself and this tiny, ancient immortal woman. I thought for a long moment about what she had said about herself, and the burden of her gift, terrible and wonderful at the same time, and it dwarfed my own problems. She had hurt others with her power, in a way I could never do, thank god.

"So we are Weavers in a way, Jasper, but Weavers of a different kind of fabric."

***

**APOV:**

My mind was spinning with all the information that was being crammed into it, and I was frustrated by the knowledge that I would lose it all too soon. It was fascinating to hear the things the Eldest had to tell us about ourselves. I held onto the distant knowledge that someday I could remember it all, and share it with others, for all our benefit.

But more than anything, I wanted the whole thing to be over with. Fast.

I mean, flying was exhilarating. But I was ready to resume a "normal" life. I wanted so much to just be with Jasper again, and the idea of not remembering all the arcane knowledge…even the parts concerning my past and my future…was becoming more and more attractive with every mile that slipped past us. Africa was a dark blur that was slowly taking on more definition as the night waned. I could see the distant glow in the east as the sun began to rise, and wondered what would happen: surely our hosts would take us down soon. After all, a contingent of sparkling objects flying through the sky at such a speed would attract attention, even in sparsely populated Africa, right?

Sure enough, just before the dawn broke fully, Ju'mai signaled for us to descend, and we alit, taking cover beneath a stand of acacia trees. "The Elders require some time to meditate," Ju'mai said quietly at my questioning glance when they all found places beneath the trees. I followed the example of the others and sat down in the shadows; the others slipped into vampiric stillness, their eyes distant and their bodies frozen as they lost themselves in that oddly comforting lack of motion that our kind finds so natural. Jasper slouched down next to me and pulled me into the familiar and comforting circle of his arms, his lips against my ear.

"Soon, eh?" I knew exactly what he meant. Soon we could leave. I looked up at the rapidly rising sun, a coppery disc in the almost colorless summer sky. The temperature was already stifling, at least it would be for a human. The savannah rippled with heat waves, the golden grass and stunted trees stretched on for a seeming eternity to the horizon. I leaned back against my husband and closed my eyes, trying to see ahead, into the future, but it was hard: everything was scattered and blurred by the influence of the others, and then there was the impenetrable wall that Ebele had evidently built up in my mind that shielded me from the impending future after we left Africa. I knew it was for the best, I knew everything would be all right, because I trusted the strange ones, oddly enough…but it didn't make it any more comforting.

"Relax, sweetheart." Jasper's voice, barely a whisper, vibrated in my hair, and I felt the warm rush of him "urging" me to calm down.

"Cheater," I muttered in response, but allowed myself to sink into the sensation, to float on it, like a cloud on the breeze, or a leaf in a stream, borne away by the comfort of his love. He chuckled and tightened his hold on me, and we sat together like that for a while, slipping into our own stillness for a long moment, only feeling each other.

After a few hours, at some unspoken signal, the Elders rose to their feet and simply took off running across the savannah without a word or a backwards glance. We all caught up quickly and ran until it was dark, through the rolling hills and over the grassy plains. When the sun had completely slid below the horizon, we took to the skies again, once more lifted up into the air with no warning. This pattern repeated itself for three days, until the towering shape of Kilimanjaro began to form against the sky one morning. After our normal early morning respite, the Elders once again rose to their feet and took off at an even faster pace than normal, and before I knew it, we were ascending the side of the mountain, the air cooling and the shadows of the forests welcome after the arid plains.

Jasper took my hand as we ran together, and I felt his growing anticipation and apprehension join my own as we came closer to the summit. I also became aware of the presence of others of our kind…many of them. I could sense them in the forests, watching from the shadows, and Jasper could feel them too, and he echoed the emotional impressions he got from them back at me: curiosity, censure, amusement, and even some anger and resentment. I tried to ignore the negativity and concentrate on the future: this would all be over soon. I hoped.

Then we were there, at the clearing with the circle of huge old stones, where Masudi and Ebele and Miali had first told us about themselves, and shown us their power, and there they were, sitting on the same stones we'd left them on, smiling. Well, Miali and Ebele were smiling. Masudi was not glaring, and that was something, at least.

Miali rose to her feet and held out her arms in welcome to Jasper and I, like we were long-lost friends. "How good that you have returned, on time, and in such company, my pale friends!" she said, and she drew us to her in an embrace that encompassed us both. After a moment she stepped back and realized her faux pas in etiquette: she seemed to blanch in chagrin and bowed deeply to the three Eldest, who stood to the side, watching her bemusedly. "Fathers and Mother, we welcome you to the mountain," she murmured shakily, obviously hoping they would not rebuke her for greeting us first. Surely it was a serious blunder to not acknowledge the Eldest first.

Masudi rolled his eyes at his wife and bowed as well, as did Ebele, repeating Miali's welcome in his deep voice. Mwanya came forward and kissed the women on each cheek, then clasped forearms with Masudi. Ebele and Miali embraced Iwe, and the three seemed ecstatic to see one another. Ngo watched the whole thing from a few feet away, his deep burgundy eyes drifting over to take in Jasper and I, who had pulled back, trying to make ourselves less noticeable to the family reunion.

They were a strange family, to be sure, but a family nonetheless. I felt a sudden and unexpected surge of a feeling akin to jealousy watching them, and a longing, a longing to have something like that for myself. _Be patient, Alice_, I reminded myself: _soon_. _A little less than two more years and all that will be yours, and Jasper's._ The idea was exciting to me in a new way, I realized, as I watched the African vampires exchange greetings and touch each other in warmly familiar ways. Others, strange to us, began to drift out of the trees and join the Elders, swelling the group to nearly fifty immortals, all obviously happy to see each other. Their laughter and the babble of their greetings and small talk grew louder as their numbers grew.

Before I realized it, Jasper and I had backed into the shadow of the trees, his arms around my shoulders as he held me back against him; I knew from the feeling of his emotions that he was thinking the same kinds of things I was thinking, about family, but his thoughts were colored with unease and vague worry. He didn't have the comfort of my visions to help him, the years to get used to the idea of it. He'd been part of that twisted family of Maria's, although "family" wasn't exactly how I'd ever term her collection of vampires.

I didn't blame him at all for being nervous about meeting a family he'd never even dreamed of, much less knew was possible, ready-made and waiting for him. Kind of like he hadn't imagined me. I giggled at the memory of our first meeting, the shock and amazement on his face so apparent and so tangible floating in the air between us, thanks to his gift. What a surprise I'd been for him.

"What're you thinking about?" Jasper whispered in my ear. "What's got you feeling so bubbly and worried at the same time?"

"I think you know, you're thinking the same thing, I think." I shook my head at my overuse of the word "think." "Someday soon, we'll have our own people, something to be part of." I paused, savored the word on my tongue before I said it. "Family."

He made a noncommittal sound and was quiet for a long moment. "Alice, the only family I ever had was the one I was born into, so I only have them to compare to. They're all dead and gone now, and the relatives still living are strangers." He shook his head. "Just like the people, these Cullens, you say we're going to meet. I didn't exactly have a choice regarding my blood family…Will they be people I'll like well enough to actually _want_ to be around, to call them family?"

I sighed. "I wish there was some way for you to get inside my head and _see_ what I've seen. Maybe then you'd feel a little better. But believe me, the Cullens aren't nearly as…well…as _strange_ as these people are."

"So we are strange to you?" Ngo's voice came from behind us, and I had no idea how he'd gotten there; I nearly came out of my skin, he startled me so much. He laughed quietly as Jasper and I turned to look at him, me struggling to regain my composure, Jasper struggling to stifle his chuckles at my discomfiture. Good boy. I didn't want to have to stomp his foot again.

"Well, in a way—" I began weakly, then gave up. He knew what my intentions were as well as I did, so there was no real reason to keep fumbling for an explanation. He smiled back at me.

"I understand, Alice. I imagine this all seems strange to you." He gestured toward the group of immortals. "But I know you do not mean 'strange' in a malicious way." Ngo chuckled. "And after all, I think you have not seen so many dark-skinned people ever in your life. It must be quite a shock to your system!"

Jasper lost his battle with his laughter, and the welcome sensation of his lighthearted mood warmed me; I didn't mind that it was at my expense.

Well, not much, at least.

The three of us watched the growing gathering for a while, each of us silent and lost in our own thoughts. I could tell that Jasper was thinking about having some "alone time," feeling frustrated by how cloistered we'd been with others for so long, not having any privacy. That made me smile. I glanced again at Ngo, who had gone statue-still as he looked at his people, cast into deep shadow by the trees, the only thing really visible being his gleaming deep red eyes. His face was unreadable, set in stone, his mouth a tight line, as if considering something intensely. After a while his eyes shifted to me, and we locked gazes for a long moment, and I had the feeling that he was "reading" me, as if he were pulling aside the curtains of my personal privacy or peering up my skirt, looking for a hidden motive or a furtive untruth.

Ngo smiled, the serious expression seeming to shatter, his powdery-stone skin crinkling. "Wondering what I am thinking about, Alice?"

I nodded, knowing I had no hope of dissembling with him.

He sighed, his eyes again shifting to the gathering before us, and his expression grew sad, and for the first time since I had seen him, the weight of his years seemed to weigh him down.

"It is a burden, young one, to be able to look into the heart of a person and know them. To know their intentions, their desires. I have always been one to hope for the best, but with the years, my expectations have lowered…and my pragmatism, my knowledge of the fact that human and immortal alike are all flawed creatures, rises."

I stilled myself, taking his words in, a dry sponge soaking up water. I felt Jasper tense behind me as his attention shifted to Ngo as well.

"And millennia of sitting in the seat of judgment, that has not helped at all. I have had to judge and punish those I loved dearly, because without rules there is no order, and without order, we would be discovered, and disaster would befall us." He pursed his lips, his eyes distant with memory. "That is the one thing we truly have in common with the Volturi: the secret must be preserved. But we go about it differently than they do, and we do not relish our power. They do."

I nodded, thinking back to the visions I had seen of the Volturi, and I remembered again the things that had been mentioned, hinted at: that something was coming. Something big. But there were many years that needed to pass until that happened, many experiences to have, many people to meet and things to do. I dragged myself back from preoccupation with the distant future to try to concentrate on the immediate one.

Ngo eyed us speculatively. "You will not be needed until later, once the moon has risen. I imagine you are thirsty?"

I nodded, my hand unconsciously rising to my throat, the burning there having escalated steadily in intensity with each passing hour. It had been almost a week since Jasper and I had last hunted. I knew that my love was tormented by his own thirst, showing so plainly in his eyes, which had turned blacker than pitch, but he'd never complained.

"Then consider yourselves excused until then. But be prompt. Once the moon has risen, we convene all business, and you should be here."

That was all it took: without even a glance at each other for confirmation, we were off like shots, sprinting down the side of the mountain as if pursued by all the hounds of hell.

When we were finally off the mountain and down on the sweltering savannah again, the sun pounding down on us, surrounded by mile upon mile of rippling summer-dry grass, I turned to look at him, and found him staring back at me, and knew that we were both wearing the same ridiculously relieved expression.

"I'm so glad this is almost over—"

"Aren't you glad it's almost done—"

Our words tumbled over each other's, and we both stopped, grinned, and fell into each others' arms with a relieved sigh, which morphed into a relieved laugh, which shook us until we'd tumbled to the ground in a giggling, relieved pile.

And who could blame us if one thing led to another? Something about that release, that sudden ease, the anticipation of the longed-for end in sight…and also not having been able to satiate that particular desire in far too long for either of our tastes…Well, suffice to say, it was satiated again, for a tiny bit, there in that golden grass, below a golden sun and an endless blue sky, without a care in the world to stifle our pleasure.

Afterward, I was content to simply lay there in his arms and watch the sun glitter along the lines of his arms as they held me against him, but Jasper growled low in his chest, sucking in a deep breath of air, and by the taste of his emotions I knew he was thirsty. My own thirst welled in a constant burn at the back of my throat, controlled and managed, but it needed no more encouragement than my mate's own thirst to roar to a life of its own, battering against my tight hold on it. I scented the wind myself, and found something there that was very appealing, and odd.

"What is that?" I hissed, rising to my knees to get a better whiff of it. Not lion, not cheetah or hyena. Ugh, I shuddered at the memory of hyena, the gamey and bitter taste of that animal's blood still unforgettable on the back of my tongue. It had been an experiment, a failed one at that, to hunt hyena, a few weeks ago, on our trip north, before meeting the Eldest.

"Don't know. But we'll find out, won't we?" Jasper stood up, straightening his clothes, and reached down to pull me up. I twitched my garment back into place as we ran off in the direction of the smell, going against the wind, seeking the source.

The rolling grassland grew more hilly and rocky, the tall grass broken more and more by scrubby bushes and low, wind-twisted trees, and the landscape began slowly sloping down, until we could see ahead of us a waterhole, surrounded by animals of all kind, who had come to the place to drink.

Wildebeest and Cape buffalo crowded each other among the reeds at the edge of the waterhole, gazelle and zebra further back, and in the center of the wide, shallow pond were a few elephants, old and young, playing in the water with obvious relish, spraying each other and trumpeting their fun to each other. But I knew their smell, it wasn't them that drew us on, though the idea of hunting an elephant, perhaps a big surly bull, was intriguing.

Oh, come on now. It was 1946. There was no such thing as an endangered species back then. No one knew. And besides, we never did it. Thought about it, yes, but never followed through.

But then, there it was, the source of the bewitching scent. Jasper growled beside me, dropping into a hunting crouch as he spotted the animal, too. I joined him. There were two, after all.

Leopard. Two of them, their coats deep golden and spotted black, their heavy, sleek bodies parting the golden grass with silent ease, slinking through the rocky, shrubby landscape, their amber eyes fixed on the waterhole ahead with a singular focus. They were hunting. They were hungry, and the wind had blown our scent away from them.

They were hunting, but they didn't realize they'd just become prey.

It was over fast; we're never needlessly cruel or slow, we don't play with our food. It only took a moment for Jasper and I to ambush them and take them down with barely a sound; they tasted as good as they smelled, and then we were able to "top off our tanks" with buffalo, which are almost as good as predator.

My man had become a skillful and neat hunter; not a spot of blood stained his skin or his clothing, not a drop spilled on the ground. I was proud of what he'd become, and I thought ahead, to the oncoming years, and remembered the glimpses of what I'd seen of our future, and knew my pride would only grow with time. And he was so unbelievably beautiful to me, all pure, clean lines and planes that seemed sculpted by some otherworldly master, his body strong and perfect, perfect at everything it did…

"What's got you so riled up?" Jasper touched the tip of my nose and grinned at me.

I grinned back. "You."

One golden eyebrow climbed incredulously, his smile becoming wide and wicked. "Again?"

"Yes. Again." With a sigh I pulled him to me, and we sunk back into the tall grass together, hands and lips suddenly busy sipping up under and impatiently pushing aside clothing that was suddenly in the way, skin siding against skin, the heat of the sun nothing compared to the heat generated between us. This time it wasn't over quickly, we took our time with each other, each sensation separately lovely and leading to the next, building in intensity, until we both burst through into that precious shining place where we were one in every way.

No two people could ever have been so completely perfect for one another. It just couldn't be possible. I closed my eyes and marveled at the warm red-gold glow of the sun through my eyelids, felt his body curled around mine like a second skin, and I was at peace. For those few long, timeless moments, I was at peace, and so was he.

***

**JPOV:**

"All who have come, attend and listen! So is begun this Meeting of the People of the Long Life! Welcome, brothers and sisters!"

The words, bellowed out in Masudi's deep bass voice, echoed across the mountainside, carried on by the breeze into the deepening night sky. I wondered what any humans who might have been within earshot might think of this, my Sunday School days coming back to me with vague recollections of voices from the sky and burning bushes.

Oddly, it suddenly struck me that Masudi hadn't been speaking in English. He'd called out in the language I'd heard them all converse in at various times, a tongue that I learned later—years later, in fact, from Carlisle, once our memories had been restored—was an ancient relative of Kiswahili, the language spoken by millions of humans on the African continent. Apparently, though there were many other languages with which they could converse, they'd chosen that one tongue as their "universal" means of communication with each other. And what was odd about it was that I had understood him. Apparently all those days of hearing the Eldest and Ju'mai and his group had rubbed off on me. The capacity of my mind once again startled me.

"Jasper, pay attention!" Alice's sharp little elbow caught me just below the ribs, bringing me back from my drifting to the events at hand.

We were crouched at the farthest edge of the crowd, in the shadows beneath the trees, which was gathered in an impressive natural amphitheater that had been scooped out of the side of the mountain by some forgotten geological occurance millions of years before. The Elder nine stood several hundred feet away, atop a huge rock that had been flattened and thrust upward by those same geological forces to make a stage of sorts, surrounded by torches, their eyes and skin glittering in the sputtering light of the flames. The rest of the African clans spread out through the bowl of the little valley, surrounding the huge rock, gazing expectantly at their leaders, and they were not paying any attention to us in a way that was almost painfully obvious.

Masudi was flanked by his wives, the three of them in new clothing, Masudi and Miali resplendent in crimson, Ebele in maroon and gold-stamped kente cloth. The eldest three stood in the center, awesome in their age, which they wore like mantles of authority. The three I had never met, the siblings Siti, Adeben and Majid. They were all swathed head to toe in fabric, the men in white, the woman in black, their burgundy eyes gleaming from between the veils. I wondered why they covered themselves, even here, among others. I remembered what we'd been told about them, that they watched over the burning deserts to the north and east, among Muslims and beneath that scorching bright sun, and the covering made sense when they were in their home lands, but here?

But I didn't have time to follow my thoughts down that particular rabbit trail. Ngo's voice cut into my reverie that time, instead of Alice's elbow.

"Let those who have complaints or grievances present themselves before the Council for judgment."

There was a murmur of hushed voices and movement as a few separated themselves from the crowd and approached the huge stone. Alice's small hand slipped into mine and gripped it tightly. We were both wondering what was going to happen. As they waited for the supplicants to approach, the Eldest took their seats atop the ubiquitous cushions which had been placed on the stone for them.

Seven individuals formed a line in front of the makeshift stage, and one at a time they were called up to stand in front of the nine ancient vampires. One by one they spoke to present their cases, and that was when we began to realize that the Africans weren't so much different than others of our kind we'd met in the rest of the world. They called up witnesses and squabbled and argued, and sometimes it descended into growling and hissing, with one or other of the Elders having to call them to order if it got too heated…Mostly the disputes were about territory and hunting rights, although one case, the last one, was more serious.

The woman was beautiful, tall, her hair bound tightly in long braids like Ebele's, but hanging loose and disarrayed down her back instead of coiled neatly, her skin black and glistening like ebony, her eyes brilliant and fierce rubies. She pointed at the man who faced her defiantly, his shoulders set, a snarl curling his mouth as he watched her.

"He killed Ati with no provocation! I demand blood debt!" she shrieked, baring her bright white teeth at him and snarling back.

The man shot a nervous glance at the nine Elders before he responded. "No, Ati provoked me, and I challenged him. It was an honorable fight. He knew the consequences of a battle with me." He flexed his considerable muscles and looked back at the woman, who was making a noise like a wet cat, hissing and spitting. Several of the others had moved to flank her, to hold her back if necessary, I imagined. "Samaya is simply angry at the outcome. She grieves for her mate, which I understand. But Ati was weak."

"Liar!" she screamed, lunging at him; the others took her by the arms and held her back, murmuring comforting nonsense to her as she crumpled, sobbing tearlessly. One of the woman picked her up from the ground and held her protectively, glaring at the accused man, who looked away uncomfortably. The sight of the grieving woman's pain was difficult to bear; Alice's fingers clenched convulsively around mine, and I knew she was thinking what I was thinking: what would it be like if one of us lost the other?

I couldn't even bear to consider it for a second.

I watched Ngo, who had leaned forward, brow furrowed, eyes narrowed. I could tell he was "reading" the situation, looking into the hearts of the two: was the accuser right, or was the accused simply trying to muddy the waters? I thought it was surely foolhardy for anyone to try to deceive the Eldest, especially Ngo, with his gift.

"Osunga," Ngo said quietly. "How did Ati provoke you? What was so serious that you must challenge him?"

Osunga stepped back a bit, away from Ngo, away from Samaya, his eyes wide. "He—he trespassed." He swallowed nervously. "He hunted on my lands, and then when I called him out for his offense, he laughed at me, insulted me. My honor demanded a challenge!"

"He's lying," Alice murmured under her breath, her eyes still fixed on Samaya, who was still weeping soundlessly against the woman's shoulder. I didn't ask her how she knew, because I had the same gut feeling. Even from that distance, I could see the lie plainly written on Osunga's face.

Ngo sighed and shook his head. "Osunga, I feel that there is some truth to what you say, but—"

"Father Elder, hold for a moment." It was Miali. The tall woman had stood up, graceful as a cat, and was approaching the tableau before them, her eyes fierce with determination. "I can show what transpired. Let us all know what Ati did that shamed Osunga so badly that he says he felt a challenge was necessary to avenge his honor."

Osunga turned and stared at Miali with wide eyes, then shot a terrified glance at Samaya, who had finally lifted her head and seemed hopeful. "No, that is not necessary, Elder--" he began hesitantly, but was cut off.

"Yes!" Samaya cried, exultant. "Let us all see what took place!" She glared at Osunga.

Ngo nodded permission to Miali, who came forward and touched Osunga's forehead gently. "Now, show us, show us your past," she murmured.

Then everyone could see, a semi-transparent shimmering that reminded me of movie screens back home.

Everything was being seen from Osunga's perspective, the images pulled fom his memories by Miali's power; first it was just a landscape, a tangle of lush green, trees and vines and tall grass, the sounds of the birds and insects echoing through the amphitheater. Osunga must live near the rainforests; I wondered if he was one of the dreaded Adze or other legendary African vampires inspired by these people.

It was obvious from the point of view that Osunga was up in a tree, gazing down into the forest from his perch. For a long moment nothing happened, just the birdsong and monkey-chatter, but then, there was movement to the right, and Osunga turned to look.

Someone, a tall, dark, lithe someone pushed through the thick undergrowth, the sunlight slanting through the branches above striking her dark skin to scatter a shower of diamond-like prisms against the boles of the trees. It was Samaya, looking considerably less haggard, her eyes wide and her full mouth pursed in thought as she scanned the forest. Looking for someone. Or something.

How did she not notice Osunga? I wondered. Surely, she must have smelled him, so close. But then I watched as her lips parted in an elated smile, and she came fully out of the trees to walk beneath Osunga's perch, away from him, down a hill. Toward where we could hear the sound of a river babbling over stones.

Once she was out of sight, the perspective changed, as if Osunga had jumped down from his branch, and we all went with him, captivated by his memory, as he followed along behind Samaya, stealthy and silent even in the tall grass.

We peeked around a huge boulder to see her there, at the edge of a small river, as she began removing her clothes. She was splendid in her nudity, her legs long and muscular—

"Ow!"

"Watch if you have to, Jasper, but can you at least keep your reactions to yourself?" Alice hissed acidly, her eyes narrowed and snapping amber sparks in her fury. I surreptitiously rubbed the spot on my diaphragm where she'd punched me with her hard little fist. It still ached.

"Sorry, baby—"

"Oh, shut up and watch."

By the time I dared turn to look again, the phantom image of Samaya had entered the water and was having a nice bath. I had to look away again in embarrassment, hazarding a glance at Samaya, who was watching the whole thing with a stunned expression: she hadn't known he was following her, that she was being watched. Realization dawned slowly over her face, and she turned to look at Osunga, who refused to meet her eyes, instead staring off into the distance with the stolid resolution of someone who realized he'd been caught and needed to meet his fate head-on…but refuses to.

After a while in the vision, Samaya reclaimed her clothing and took off into the forest, Osunga following behind her again, skulking in the shadows. We all heard her cry out in happy greeting to someone Osunga hadn't glimpsed yet. Once he rounded a bend and hid behind a tree, we saw them, Samaya and another man, embracing. A tall man, slender and dark as she was; he held her up, her feet off the ground and kicking like a girl's as they kissed passionately. Ati.

Somehow, all of us watching the scene felt Osunga's jealousy as if it were our own; my stomach clenched into a knot at what I knew was going on.

Osunga loved her. And he hated her mate. He wanted her for his own.

"Lover, shall we hunt?" Samaya asked, her tone carefree and sweet as she looked up into her mate's eyes.

Ati glanced around, his eyes narrowing. Somehow, he knew they were being watched. "Go on without me, choose your prey. I will follow in a moment, my love." Samaya didn't seem to notice his tension, his wary expression: she was a creature completely besotted. Perhaps their relationship was new, still so blindingly passionate that she noticed nothing except that. Or perhaps she simply trusted Ati so much that she never questioned him. Either way, she kissed him again and slipped off into the forest, Osunga's gaze following her until she disappeared into the trees.

"Come out, I know you watch!" Ati's voice was a mere whisper: he didn't want Samaya to hear him, to have her come back and see. "Come out and face me!"

Osunga hesitated for a moment before stepping out from behind his tree. Surely he knew his having watched them like that made him appear a pervert, a cad. But he did, and Ati was suddenly there before him, his darkly handsome face twisted with scorn.

"I have sensed you before, Osunga, but I shall not permit this any longer! I know your tricks, I have known you too long to not have learned how to feel you even when you use your gift of concealment. Leave us alone! _She_ chose _me_!" Ati stabbed at Osunga's chest with an accusatory finger. "_Me_! Not you!"

The other man stared down at Ati, his rage evident, but Ati didn't flinch. "Only because she is young and blind and foolish. She should have been mine. I watched her from when she was a child, Ati. I chose her, I asked our maker to make her for _me_. Not you!" Osunga was bigger than the other vampire, taller, broader. But Ati still didn't back down, even when Osuga took a menacing step toward him; he bared his teeth defiantly, a growl building in his chest like low rolling thunder before a storm.

"None of that matters, and you know it. The woman chooses whom she will. And she chose me, Osunga. Now leave us alone!" Ati took a step back, his eyes going soft with regret. "I am sorry for your grief. I would not cause you pain, but this is how it is. I will not fight you, brother. Just leave us in peace, and we shall have no more problems."

Brothers! They were brothers! Now I saw the resemblance between them. Physically, they were siblings, and they had been turned by the same maker. Doubly brothers.

And then, Ati made a fatal mistake. He turned and began walking away.

Osunga hesitated for a moment. We couldn't hear his thoughts, but we all knew what was happening inside the man: the hatred, the jealousy, the rage and bruised pride, they were all roiling within him in a curdled mess, warring against his loyalty to his brother, his fear and respect for the traditions of the People.

And the anger and jealousy won.

With a fluid leap Ati was down, Osunga's teeth at his throat: without even a cry it was over, Ati's head bouncing to the ground and rolling away like a grotesque ball, and Osunga was ripping his brother to shreds, the shrieks of the tearing metallic flesh filling the jungle. Then, he piled the bits and pieces of his brother up and struck flint to iron, the spark catching the quivering obsidian flesh and carrying it away in streams of choking purplish smoke up into the sky.

It had only taken a few moments. The passage of fifteen breaths, maybe.

"No!" Samaya cried, her voice strangled, and she fell to her knees as she watched the image fade, reaching out toward it, as if she could bring Ati back to her from the vision. "No!" She fell forward onto the stone, sobbing, pointing at Osunga. "Murderer! Murderer!"

Mwanya, Iwe and Ngo stood up, coming toward Osunga, their faces dark with anger and disappointment. "Osunga, how could you betray your brother so? And to lie to us, to try to put the blame on him, when it was you who were jealous and scheming. To murder a brother is one crime, to murder a fellow immortal's mate is another, to lie to the Elders is yet a third. What have you to say for yourself?" Mwanya thundered, gesturing angrily with his staff.

Osunga seemed to pale; he dropped to his knees, his hands coming up as if to ward off an oncoming attack. "I love her! I wanted her, had to have her! I have no other excuse!" he cried, his eyes closing as he slumped down into a pitiful heap at the Eldest's feet.

"As if I would ever have you! I have always known you to be a low creature, not fit to have shared blood and bond with your brother!" Samaya spit, her tone biting; Osunga flinched away from her. "I call for the satisfaction of this blood debt, Fathers and Mothers!"

Iwe sighed, her eyes sad. "Are you sure it is death you want, child? Would you not be avenged by a long Sleep for him? Perhaps he could learn his lesson—"

"No!" Samaya shook her head savagely, her wild hair whipping her shoulders. "No! It is death he brought me, it is death he should have!"

The nine Elders looked at one another in turn, and after a long moment of silent deliberation, all nine nodded in unison.

"Death." This from Siti, the black-gowned woman, from between her white-robed brothers. Then the three of them turned, presenting their backs to the condemned man, as if cutting him out of existence.

"Death," whispered Ebele, shaking her head sadly. And she and her sister wife and their husband all turned away as well.

Ngo shook his head gravely. "Osunga, you have been tried and judged by our laws. And by our laws, you shall die the final death. No more shall your eyes see the sun or the moon. No more shall you taste the blood of the living to satisfy your thirst. No more shall you know the fellowship of your family and friends. All who knew and loved you cast you out, cut your memory from our history. You are dead in every way to us, and now your body shall die the ultimate death." He nodded to Mwanya, and he and Iwe turned away as well.

"Death," Mwanya proclaimed, his voice cold and echoing, and his staff came down on the stone with a hollow thud that seemed to echo in my bones.

"Death," Samaya whispered gladly, her eyes hungry as she watched.

Osunga seemed to collapse in on himself, his hands covering his face as he wailed in shame. Without any hint of emotion, his demeanor as cold as his words had been, Mwanya reached out with the staff and shoved the sobbing vampire off the stone, where he sprawled onto the ground before the crowd. "Death!" Mwanya called again.

And like a tidal wave, like a swarm of killer ants, the other vampires fell upon the condemned man with a vast cry. Osunga was quickly hidden from view, but his screams grew louder and louder, until they were all that could be heard.

"My God, what are they doing to him?" Alice whispered, burrowing her face into my chest, her anger obviously gone. "Why isn't it over?"

"I don't know, Alice. If I were to guess, they're pulling him to bits…very small bits…very slowly."

She shuddered against me, and I held her tightly and tried to wrap her in my love, to drown out the rage of the crowd that washed over us, until finally, blessedly, the screaming ended.

A few moments later, a column of thick smoke was ascending into the night sky, where it was scattered quickly by the wind, blowing the last remaining traces of Osunga among the stars, never to be heard of again.

For a long time there was silence, heavy and oppressive, as the seriousness of what had just happened settled in over the crowd. Samaya stood alone, facing the crowd, but her eyes were closed. Even from so far away, I could feel what she was going through, her emotions were so strong, so raw. I'd never felt such pain before, such utter and complete loss. Yes, Osunga's death had assuaged her desire for revenge…but that revenge had been consumed by the fire of her rage, and what was left behind were cold and lonely ashes. It was as if all the life had been drained out of her, and she was a shell full of nothing but grief, looking forward to a long life of nothing else.

"Brother, this one should be granted a Sleep without dreaming," Iwe murmured to Ngo. She had turned around and was watching Samaya, who had settled to her knees, her arms wrapped tightly around herself; she was rocking slowly back and forth, her eyes closed, and she was keening softly, some ancient funeral song, perhaps, mourning her dead mate. "And perhaps…a bit of help with healing."

Ngo turned and sighed at the sight. "Yes, I agree. Ebele." He made a peremptory gesture and Ebele was there. "Help her."

The small woman nodded, her eyes wide and full of compassion as she reached out to take Samaya in her arms. The two were gone in a moment, leaving the crowd hushed and expectant, waiting for the next thing to happen.

And then, all the eyes were upon us.

Uh oh.

***

**APOV:**

I have never experienced anything so horrible as Osunga's death. But even so, I would never wish the pain I saw in Samaya on anyone, not my worst enemy. I watched her grieving and I held tight to my husband, and I prayed to whatever god there might be, who might listen to the prayers of one who might be damned, that I never have to be in her place. Or, even worse: that Jasper never had to hurt like that. I could bear it if I hurt: but I couldn't bear to know he did. It was unthinkable.

And then it was over, and the whole crowd had turned to stare at us. We were the final show, the last act. They were all waiting for this, for the white outlanders to be cleansed and removed from their lands.

"Come forward, Alice and Jasper. Do not fear." Iwe's voice was calm and gentle.

"Yes, come down now." This was Mwanya, in his commanding voice, but I didn't fear the effects this time. It was actually comforting to not have to make my feet move of their own volition: they carried Jasper and I to the front, ascended the stone to stand before them, all on their own. Just fine by me.

We'd been waiting for this for weeks. We'd been practically counting down the minutes until we could be released back into our own lives. We'd been anticipating it, begging for it…and now that it was finally here, the moment we'd been waiting for, it was scary as hell.

Miali came forward and put her arms around us. "Do not worry. No harm shall come to you." I tried to have confidence in those words. But I had just seen these people sentence someone to die so horribly, it was difficult to trust them completely.

Then Ebele was there, smiling at us. "But you have been wanting this! Why so fearful!" she joked, reaching out to take our hands. "Come. Sit." She drew us toward the cushions, pushed us down to sit. The other six Elders grouped themselves behind us, blocking off the view of the crowd, which helped a bit. I never realized I got stage fright until then.

"Alice and Jasper, tonight you will be sent back to Capetown. You will remember nothing of the People of the Long Life. You will be given new memories, memories of the trip that should have taken place, and you will return to America happy and content. But someday, the memories we will bury today will be allowed to resurface, at the proper time. Until then, you will be blessedly ignorant."

I smiled a bit at Ebele's words. "Good enough. Thank you for your kindness, and all your teaching. I wish I could remember it all, at least, for now!"

She chuckled, then leaned forward and placed her fingertips against my forehead and Jasper's. Her burgundy eyes sipped shut as she concentrated. "Sleep. Dream. Remember not, until you are bidden to do so. Be at peace," she murmured, her voice oddly deep and vibrant.

And then I was gone, falling away from everything into emptiness, blessed soft, dark emptiness that reached out and surrounded me, held me like a baby and wrapped me in its featureless comfort. My mind was at rest, at peace, every thought I'd ever had separating away and vanishing, every fear or doubt leaching into nothing, until I was as empty as a balloon, floating in the blackness, into oblivion.

I slept.

It was a beautiful morning, the sun slanting in through the wide windows and pooling in golden puddles on the hardwood floor. I could hear the sounds of Africa beyond those windows, the chirping of birds and insects, and the breeze that stirred the gossamer curtains and moved the mosquito netting that swathed our bed was fragrant with bougainvillea and jasmine, and salty with the sea.

Africa! We'd had such a good time! I took a moment and ran back through the events of the last few weeks with satisfaction: hunting the lions with Jasper, making love in the grass, climbing mountains and swimming in deep rivers. Playing tag among mountain peaks, racing across the plains together. Seeing the moon glisten along the lines of the Pyramids in the dry coolness of the desert night. But most of all, the memories of how it had just been the two of us, losing ourselves in each other, exulting in each other's bodies and in each other's company. A honeymoon, a true honeymoon, with no Maria, no problems, no worries. Just us.

Jasper and I lay tangled in the sheets, and I opened my eyes to the brilliant light and appreciated every gleaming inch of his skin. He was motionless next to me, his eyes closed, his dark blonde lashes heavy against his silvery cheeks. He looked so peaceful, as if he were sleeping, dreaming even. I thought back for a moment to the last few hours: we'd made love and talked all night long, made plans for the return trip that was imminent, before each of us retired to the privacy of our own minds before the sun rose.

"Wake up, sleepyhead!" I murmured, reaching out finally to touch his face. But I was joking. Of course he wasn't asleep. He'd just slipped into that peaceful stillness our kind finds so relaxing, completely motionless, even when I touched him. Our kind can't sleep.

Can they?


	18. Chapter 18: Road Work

Dear Readers,

First of all, thank you for being so impatiently patient, while I got my life together and dealt with a lot of things that kept me from writing. Every single message you sent me was read and cherished. Sometimes I just didn't have the energy to respond, so I'm doing it now, en masse. Sorry if that seems impersonal…but it is definitely heartfelt.

I had major health problems over the past year and a half, which led to major financial problems and major upheavals in my life. We lost our home, I almost died, yada yada. However, it's a new day. We're back on track. I'm feeling good again.

And I'm writing again. I feel alive again. The two go hand-in-hand.

Anyway, this chapter is a bit boring, I'll warn you now. It's almost completely in their heads, lots of thoughts and feelings. I hit serious writer's block with this particular chapter, and ended up putting it aside for a while in the hopes that something would come to me…then life decided to drop some bombs in my lap, and the chapter languished on my desktop for over a year. Nothing huge happens here in Chapter 18, but true to its title, it is road work: laying the groundwork for the final two chapters, where everything will tie up neatly and, hopefully, give you a satisfying end to A & J's long, long journey home.

I plan on going back and ripping TLRH apart and putting it all back together again, shiny and clean. You guys noticed some details I flubbed, so I need to fix those things—plus, my writing style has evolved a bit since I started writing this story in 2009… If you can believe it, TLRH started out as a dream (no kidding) that was originally a one-shot, and grew then, swelling FAR beyond my own expectations, a bit like Reneesme. ;) It was also the first piece of fiction I'd written in more than ten years, so I was a bit rusty and florid. If you're interested in reading the re-vamped (pun intended!), completed version (which will contain some things not in the one that's currently out online) as a downloadable e-book, please let me know.

Again, thank you, thank you, thank you for reading and continuing to support me. I love you all. And for those of you who care, thank Lydia Hale for being the spur that goaded me into promising to finish TLRH before Christmas. She and her sweet bunch of friends made me feel so guilty and loved that I had to make that promise—and I intend to keep it.

Love,

Jess

**Chapter 18: Road Work**

**JPOV**

_The mugger hadn't wanted to stab the man, I knew, from the sudden surge of remorse and frantic worry that assaulted me just a split-second before the scent of his victim's blood slammed into me like a freight train. _

_The robber just wanted the wallet, and his mark put up too much of a fight. I didn't see it happen, because they were in an alley just off the main street, only a few feet away in the dimness of the shadows between the buildings, but it was close enough for the emotions to lash at me, to hear their struggle echoing off the alley walls. _

_Nothing good ever happens in alleys, does it? _

_My body took over. Throat burning with thirst, the bloodlust coloring my vision red, my hands curling into claws, I froze, preparing to strike. _

_Yet, some tiny part of my mind screamed out, throwing the image up before my eyes. Reminding me. Trying to stop the unstoppable. I was catapulted back in time, just a few minutes, but precious ones._

_It was a beautiful ring._

Nestled in the velvet of the display case, the platinum setting gleamed subtly, the diamonds catching the light of the overhead bulbs and casting rainbow fragments all around. It wasn't flashy or huge. The central diamond, princess cut, was only a carat, but it was flawless and clear; the other, smaller diamonds, baguettes, surrounded the bigger one, pretty maids clustered about the bride, set in the platinum of the band in a delicate pattern, a spray of leaves cradling a precious flower.

It was perfect.

I could already see it on her finger, resting comfortably against her wedding band, which although plain, wouldn't be overshadowed by this elegant engagement ring. It looked fragile, but platinum is an extraordinarily strong metal, and diamonds are…well, diamonds. Beautiful but unbelievably durable and useful.

Diamonds could adorn the most costly jewelry…or be used to drill into the most unyielding rock. I liked the symbolism of it: it was like Alice herself. Glittering, lovely, fragile-seeming…but eternal, unbreakable, and amazingly versatile.

"Sir? Would you like to see it up close?"

The jewelry store clerk's voice interrupted my reverie; I looked up into her face, round and soft and eagerly helpful. She caught my good mood, her smile widening, her heart skipping a beat at the sight of my face, the sound both sweet and awful to my ears. She felt how happy I was, to be standing there in that store and looking at the perfect ring for my perfect wife, and she was happy for me, obliviously so.

Lucky girl. The circumstances barely protected her from being objectified as a potential meal, something I was fighting fiercely to stop doing.

"Yes. Please." My response was short, clipped, heavy with my ironclad resolve. I'd take it in my hand and see it closer. But it didn't matter: I knew, even without touching the ring, that it was the right one. Fate or something had guided me to that store, the first one I saw, directing me to that particular display case.

The girl grinned happily and unlocked the case, reaching inside to take the ring out carefully. She held it with something akin to reverence, the way one properly handles something rare and special. Not covetous, but appreciative.

"Here you are, sir. Three carats total. It's practically an antique, too. Provenance has it being crafted in 1920. You can never go wrong with Tiffany."

I reached out to take it from her, and, careless in my distraction, my fingertips brushed the salesgirl's hand; she started, her eyes widening at the coldness of my skin, and I felt her sudden thrill of nervousness. She looked at me more closely, and something inside her, her innate sense of self-preservation, must have recognized my _otherness_, told her to beware.

She took a step back, almost to the wall, eyes widening.

Poor thing. As if a glass display case and a few feet of space between us would keep her safe, if I was thirsty and out of control.

She did smell lovely, though. Delectable.

I felt the venom well up in my mouth, an automatic response, my body asserting its wishes fiercely, lusting after the hot, salty-sweet blood pulsing through her veins. For a split-second I froze, caught up in the fantasy of taking her down, every muscle and tendon ready to strike, imagining slaking the thirst that never truly went away on this diet of animal blood with her life.

No.

I thought of Alice, how sad and disappointed she'd be, if I gave in to that primal urge. I thought of how hard it would be to get back on track afterward, how my body and mind would try to reject the animal blood after tasting human again, my flesh greedy and selfish, my brain rebelling against such self-denial. I'd been through it before. It was a living hell.

But more than anything, I thought of the agony of my own guilt. How I'd have to wallow in the memory of this human girl's pain and fear and bewilderment as I killed her, her emotions felt as keenly as if they were my own, replayed again and again by my guilty conscience… And how I'd hate myself anew, all the barely-healed wounds in my soul breaking open again by the acid of my self-loathing at my own weakness.

It wouldn't be a simple setback. It would be a monumental loss. It always was.

Alice had helped me so much, her unconditional love and support allowing those wounds to begin to scab over, her unusual lifestyle offering an escape from my guilt. I couldn't let a moment of indulgence destroy all my progress.

I took a long, shuddering breath and clamped down on my body with a steely determination. It didn't take long, thankfully, since I wasn't very thirsty.

Thank God.

I held the ring cradled in my palm, and my mind drifted for a moment. Control was easier this way, imagining myself in bed with Alice again, looking into her wise, golden eyes and finding everything I'd ever needed, wanted, or dared to hope for in their depths.

It had been six weeks since we'd returned from Africa.

When we'd docked in New York after the long return trip home from South Africa, we'd immediately fled the closely-packed streets of New York, our throats burning with the thirst, in search of less guilt-inducing prey than the oblivious New Yorkers.

We'd gone north, into Canada, and hunted deer and mountain lion and bear and elk in the wilderness until we were sated. Well, as sated as animal blood could ever make us. We lolled lazily in the weaker, more indirect, northern sunlight, and the thoughts of our African vacation came and went like the memories of dreams.

Sometimes, when I tried to analyze a particular circumstance that happened during those weeks we'd passed in the Dark Continent, I would feel strangely befuddled: it was like I was seeing someone else's memories of something we'd done together being described to me, or listening to a story I'd heard many times before but never experienced personally. Like the images were familiar, but they weren't _mine_. Odd. But I didn't let it preoccupy me, because the present was beautiful, the future beckoning.

When we finally felt safe to be among humans again, Alice took us south and west to Chicago, a city neither of us had been to before. She'd seen some things coming up, and knew we needed to go there.

I followed her with an acceptance that was so unconscious it startled me sometimes if I thought about it. It was so natural and normal-seeming, to go where she pointed, but it wasn't as if she were the leader: we were on a journey together, and she happened to be the one with the map and compass. As if she were the map and compass itself, is perhaps a better analogy.

It was late 1948, the war that humans called World War II had ended, the country was flush with its success and the results of wartime effort, industry booming. The Great Depression was over, Hitler and his followers had been defeated, and it seemed all was right with the world, or as right as it could possibly be to the United States.

I was bemused by their blissful ignorance of the cost of such peace and prosperity: most of those happy humans had never lain in a foxhole or dodged bullets or smelled the stink of bloody battle. Good for them. Perhaps it was a good thing, such unblemished and innocent optimism.

I wished _I_ could have been allowed to remain in such a state, while I was human. But…what is done is done. Perhaps it was all for the best, my particular loss of innocence. I'd have never met Alice if I hadn't lost that innocence, at least in the way that I had. It was the closest thing I could come to being grateful for Maria choosing to add me to her army and changing me.

In Chicago we were surrounded by humans who didn't give us a second look, too busy with their own pursuits, which was fine by me. Alice strode easily into a bank in the middle of the afternoon, her sparkling skin camouflaged by long sleeves and stockings and a hat; the weak light filtering down from the overcast sky didn't seem to touch her.

Alice liquidated an account she'd established with them years ago by mail. I wasn't surprised. So we had cash in hand, which we proceeded to spend on some new clothing and obtaining a room in a good hotel downtown.

As I lay in bed with my wife some hours later, I felt the renewed, unwelcome, and uncomfortable rumbling of my macho ego, something I'd done my best to squelch for the past months, for the sake of Alice's feelings and my own pragmatism.

I knew, logically, that there was nothing wrong with allowing her to support us materially for now: she had spent years investing and preparing for just that reason, knowing I'd been living a vagabond existence for so long, wanting to provide us with the good things in life.

But it was impossible to ignore my ego altogether, especially in those quiet moments when the mind is free to wander as it will.

I distinctly remember looking up at the ceiling of that hotel room and thinking how I was lying in a bed paid for by Alice with money she'd earned years before she knew me, that the clothing _she__'__d_ bought for us both was lying discarded on the floor around that bed…and something primal in me rebelled at that fact. I could practically hear the voice of my father, a sound I'd not heard for decades, lecturing me about a man's responsibilities.

Now, I treasured each minute of each day passing with Alice…but each day was punctuated by the inarguable, constant fact that _she_was the one paying for the details. And that fact was a blow to my masculine pride, illogical as it might be.

It _could_ be different. Sure, we could forsake the material comforts and go and roam the wild places, living like immortal gypsies blown like dry leaves in the wind as so many of our kind did, and we might be happy, for a while.

But Alice wouldn't like it forever. Her civilized soul would eventually begin to hunger for the things such freedom didn't give, like hot showers and soft beds and new clothes, the feel of good silk and linen sliding over skin, and clean hair without tangles. The ability to choose from the bounty of the material, unfettered by the thought of how much it might cost, is a gift.

She wasn't truly materialistic or even close to greedy: she just appreciated the finer things for what they were worth, and enjoyed them. There is a difference. She didn't _have_ to have them…she just liked them. A lot. But not just for herself, by any means: she rejoiced in being able to help others, in giving them the best. If she could have, Alice would have made sure every being on the planet had the ability to sleep on silk and wear Chanel, just for the sheer indulgent joy it could give them.

I hadn't the means necessary to provide her that kind of lifestyle, apart from her own efforts. It made me feel guilty on a level I'd never experienced before. I knew my wife, my lover, my best friend, _my__Alice_, would do whatever I asked of her, period. She'd follow me into the crude, wandering existence I'd lived before I'd met her without complaint. She'd swallow her discomfort and smile brightly to belie it…even if I could feel the untruth. She'd do that for me. She'd sacrifice and give up the civilized life she'd grown to enjoy, _for__me_, and she would never breathe a word in protest…but I would still know.

All modern mindsets aside, I _needed_ to provide for my wife. It was a part of my nature, wrong or right, something born and bred and nurtured in me. Call me a caveman or a chauvinist or consumed by stupid pride, it didn't matter. I needed, and wanted, to be the one she could turn to, to be the one she looked to for support of every kind.

And perhaps money isn't the answer to everything, but the lack thereof surely makes everything else much harder. One has much fewer choices.

Then it occurred to me, a bolt from the blue. I had to force myself to keep from sitting up and shouting in my exultation.

I remembered Ginny's letter, the part about the bank account she'd left me. I had money sitting there waiting for me, money from my family, money that had been earning interest for years, while I had wandered lonely as a cloud, completely ignorant of its existence.

I felt a flush of pride at the realization that I suddenly had options, resources. I could do something for _Alice_ for once, instead of the opposite, which seemed to be the perpetual state of things…I could actually contribute to the maintenance of our lifestyle. I could give _her_something.

Besides everything else, I owed my wife a proper engagement ring.

After all, I'd proposed to her on a whim and she'd married me without a moment's hesitation, letting me slide that simple golden wedding band onto her lovely little finger only a few days after we'd met, with nothing even resembling a proper proposal or courtship. My chivalrous and traditional upbringing clamored inside me like a clanging bell, demanding acknowledgement.

My wife, my love, my forever…she deserved more than I'd given her.

_Oh,__my__Alice_.

My mind spun as I thought about the years she'd passed preparing herself for me, a person she'd only glimpsed in her visions, giving herself to me sight-unseen, as completely and trustingly as a girl who'd known her sweetheart since the day she was born.

I mentally flushed with pride and blanched with shame at the same time at the thought, knowing I was unworthy of such a blind commitment, but I was still gleefully exultant that I had her anyway. She had told me that my face was the first thing she really remembered upon waking from the black fire of the change, that it had helped her to keep sane, even though she was alone and bewildered, kept her from becoming a monster, the thing she feared the most.

And what about the monster that _I_ was, the monster I held within me?

Was it really tamed, or was it the real me, masquerading as a civilized creature? I knew better, because the monster broke out of its cage all too easily at moments of weakness, shaming me.

Did it deserve her? Did I deserve her? Or…Was she a virgin sacrifice to the monster I was, the dragon? Would I drag her down?

_Oh,__shut__up,__Jasper_. Another voice echoed in my mind, this time Ginny's, this time much more…real. I froze, wondering if it was just my imagination, or if she was truly there, as she said she'd be?

_Shut__up__and__just__love__her,__you__big__idiot._

Ginny had never been one to mince words with me. And she was also seldom wrong.

Well, regardless of being worthy and my disbelief at my luck, I had Alice, and I was never letting her go. I'd do everything I could to make things right, the right I knew, the best I could.

As I made the decisions, I knew Alice must have been seeing things, pictures from the future, but, sweet and discreet soul as I knew only she could be, she never said a word. She stayed curled up against me, pliant and innocent and completely mine, and she let me think and plan my silly plans without interference.

I firmly believe she was trying her best to ignore it all, to let things be as much of a surprise to her as they could be, though she never said anything about it. That fact alone, her indulgence of my whims, was enough to make me fall in love with her again and again, minute by minute.

**APOV:**

I knew something was odd about our trip to Africa.

But at the same time, something in my mind wouldn't let me explore that oddness very far. That _something_ was pushing me to only look ahead, to not examine the past too closely, to think about the years I would spend with Jasper, about the future with our new family, and to concentrate on that. And I was content to do it.

Strangely.

My curiosity is such a strong part of my nature it should have set off warning bells in me that I _didn__'__t_ feel curious, that I actually shied away from examining my memories…but I still let it go. Also strange.

As I purchased clothes and paid for our hotel room in Chicago, I knew Jasper was a bit discomfited. I could feel it due to his ability, but I also got flickers from the future, which I tried to ignore as fast as I got them, because it almost felt like a betrayal to acknowledge them.

Jasper was feeling unmanned by my self-sufficient ways and my taking care of everything. Well, not _completely_ unmanned: he just wanted to contribute. He'd been raised in an era where men took care of and protected women…and although, to _my_ opinion, he took care of me _very_well indeed, in the ways I _needed_ to be cared for, it wasn't enough for him. He wanted to do something tangible, something visible, be the "good provider."

I dutifully suppressed the images I got the best I could, trying to give him his privacy. Such an honorable man with such honorable intentions deserved it.

We passed a beautiful evening together, luxuriating in the space of the hotel room (compared to the stateroom on the boat, it was a palace) and the fact that we weren't shut in among thousands of humans in the middle of the open ocean, their blood an agonizing, concentrated temptation. Yes, in the city we could still smell them, of course, but it wasn't the same: the sea had seemed to amplify the scent of the blood, magnifying it, turning the cruise liner into a floating island of potential guilt surrounded by the water. We'd gorged ourselves on the wildlife in Canada and had been able to gain a bit of indifference to the humans, however temporary. Temporary enough to be able to lose ourselves in each other for a while, instead of constantly worrying about the other's thirst.

In the bed we fell into each other with effortless grace. The whispering of silken skin sliding against silken skin with delicious friction, the lush smacking of lips parting with breathless gasps of pleasure, were a symphony in our ears; we were intoxicated with each other, each drinking deeply of a honey-sweet mouth, like a bottomless well of delight; we were enflamed by tongues drawing exquisite paths of fire to the most sensitive parts of our bodies, stoked by the heat and undeniable force of a love and lust so perfectly combined, forging anew the unbreakable bond between us. I held him against me and we were like one being, we couldn't tell where one ended and the other began, bound together by immeasurable pleasure and immeasurable love.

And still, for all the sensuous perfection of our coupling, I knew it didn't matter. It wasn't necessary; I'd gladly stare into his eyes forever and never touch him, and I'd still feel that same bliss. Truly. That's all I ever needed. Those eyes staring into mine, seeing every part of me and loving me completely, the acceptance of who I am without reservation…it was enough. Our souls were tied together with an unbreakable cord, one that transcended touching...Everything else was a nice bonus.

Very nice, indeed.

Afterward, as we lay there in that Chicago hotel bed, our bodies touched but our minds were separate and wandering down their own paths, and it struck me suddenly, oddly, that my entire future was bound up with this man. Yes, I'd known it for years, hungered for it, planned for it…but at that moment, while I suppressed the flashes of the future I kept getting from my husband's developing decisions, it really began to sink in.

I'd lived for years by myself, watching the futures of those around me as well as my own, like I was watching a movie or television program for which I had pages of the script. I knew what was going to happen. As the events of those lives unfolded I knew what would take place, to a large degree, and it was satisfying to see things come to fruition that I'd seen in my mind's eye when they were only in seed.

But now…now I was actually _living_ the life I'd seen for myself, it wasn't impersonal anymore. I wasn't watching a program of my life. I was inside it, it _was__me._ We'd finally crossed the threshold from what was foreseen into what was foretold, he was really here, the long wait was over, and he was really here forever, a forever that was permanently bound to mine.

And it was good.

I closed my eyes and inhaled Jasper's scent, like leather and lavender and the tang of the sea, felt the press of his flesh against mine, and I felt contentment, deep and profound, settle into my very bones, a heavy sensation both familiar and foreign. Like coming home. I'd never had a home before, at least not one I remembered, but I had one now, in him.

"What're you thinking about?" he murmured into my ear, his deep, warm voice vibrating me like a struck tuning fork. "You feel…_good_." We both laughed at the vague rightness of the word.

"Oh, nothing. Just about you and me, and forever." I turned on my side to snuggle up against him; his arms tightened around me.

"Nothing, eh?" he growled, but his tone was teasing. "So is _this_ nothing, or is it something?"

And then he did that _thing_ he does so well, and our minds—and bodies—suddenly veered from their separate musings and went happily together back down a by now very familiar, yet still very exciting, path.

A few hours later, as the sun began peeping above the horizon, brightening the clouds, I pried myself out of the bed and into the shower. I'd made some decisions myself, and wanted to give Jasper some privacy as he worked on his plans. The day would be overcast again, and cold: perfect. Chicago in December is my kind's kind of town. I had work to do.

As we were each getting dressed, Jasper kept shooting me strange looks. "What're you going to go do, Alice?" he finally asked, unable to contain his curiosity any longer.

"No big mystery. I'm going shopping, mostly. " I deliberately omitted the rest: shopping would lead to something else. Another predestined meeting, and it would take all the fun out of it if I let anything slip.

I'd been seeing it coming for a while. There were several pivotal things that would happen while we were in Chicago. I had research to do.

I also pointedly refrained from asking him what _he_ wanted to do. I knew too much already.

I finished rolling up my stocking and attaching it to my garter, then smoothed my skirt down over my hips again; I turned a bit and eyed myself critically in the mirror, not sure if I liked what I saw.

I'd picked up the dress, a deep burgundy gabardine, the day before in a hurry. Styles had changed again while I hadn't been paying enough attention: hemlines had dropped a bit, things were more conservative. Flappers were long gone, the controversial Rosie the Riveter and her liberal style (no pantyhose! Trousers!) had retired from the assembly line and rolled down her sleeves to take up her apron again… Late 1940's fashion was definitely not as kind to my slight figure as I'd like. I just didn't have the long, curvy build that a cinched waist, knee-length dress flattered. I was no Rita Hayworth.

"Oh, you look fine. Beautiful. As always," Jasper chided, rolling his eyes. He must have felt my dissatisfaction."Stop fretting."

I rolled my eyes right back. "Men don't understand a thing about fashion. At least the kind of man _you_ are doesn't." I combed back my hair and positioned my hat strategically atop it, then gave a little sigh of defeat. It'd have to do.

I'd often lamented my lack of hair: there is something so bewitching and feminine about a mane of long, flowing locks, something I'd never have. I had to do with a head of short, ink-black hair that unfortunately had a definite preference for standing upright, unruly and impertinent, as if I'd been shocked with a thousand volts. "But thank you anyway, sweetheart."

He shook his head in exasperation, smiling wryly.

I tapped the tip of his nose with one finger. "Go do your thing, I'll do mine, and we'll meet back here at sunset. Then we can hunt up some dinner, and maybe see a show." I grinned at my silly joke and was rewarded with a returning smile from him, a real smile, wide and open, something so rare and so beautiful it took my breath away for a moment…then something flashed in my mind, and I sobered. "Just be careful. Remember, we're in a big city, and you should be mindful in crowded places. Especially busy streets. Remember Philly?"

He flinched a bit from the memory of the car accident and its aftermath. "Right."

"And…watch out in enclosed spaces. Like stores." I pursed my lips in thought, torn by what I needed to tell him next, how to do it the right way. My words came out in a rush, tumbling over themselves, and I braced myself mentally for his reaction. "And…there's a branch of Wells Fargo downtown. If that means anything to you."

Jasper nodded slightly, his expression suddenly guarded, then turned away from me, going to the window, looking anywhere else but at me, as if not wanting to give anything else away.

I wasn't going to let him shut me out completely, though: I came up behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist, looking with him out over the city.

It was an impressive view. The street below was already crowded, full of cars crawling along slowly through the developing traffic, the pedestrians tiny and antlike as they went about their morning business. Grant Park lay couched among the gray streets like an emerald set in granite, Lake Michigan glinting in the distance. The weak morning sun filtered through the clouds, caught the planes of his face, so perfectly sculpted, the skin glittering subtly, those scars standing out and doing nothing to hide his beauty; if anything, the starkness of them emphasized it all the more. God, he was a fine man. I closed my eyes and tried to let him feel my love, which flowed out of me like a river.

It was too much. I had to say something.

"Jasper, I wish you'd relax a bit. I don't want you thinking you have to be some macho caveman. I understand it's how you were raised, but….Well, baby, times have changed a lot, it's 1948, about to be 1949. Besides, we can't have a very traditional marriage. We're not exactly in a traditional situation, after all." I giggled. "Not exactly traditional _people_, either."

I stood on tiptoe and traced the slightly raised edge of one of his many scars, this one on the back of his neck, with my lips, and was rewarded with a shiver from him. "Nope, not traditional at all." I carefully clamped down on the nape of his neck with my teeth, exerting no pressure, but I knew he felt it with every nerve in his body.

It worked. I felt him chuckle, and then he turned and slipped his arms around me, holding me tight, picking me up to kiss me, my feet dangling like a child's in empty air. It was so lovely, to be so helpless in his arms, and yet still so very safe.

"Fine. I'll stop obsessing, but I have to do _something_. Anything I can. That's who I am, how I was raised." His voice in my ear sent chills down my spine. "Just let me do what I can, Alice. Let me be me. And I'll let you be you…and we'll be _us_."

I burrowed my face into his neck, inhaling his scent. "That sounds nice. I like us. Very much."

He kissed me again and set me down, patting me on the backside and propelling me toward the door. "Scat. Shop yourself silly, or whatever you're going to do." Of course I hadn't fooled him. "I'll meet you here. Sunset."

"It's a date." I blew him a kiss and left him standing there by the window, gazing down on the city again, a hopeful half-smile curving his lips upward.

**JPOV**

I left the jewelry store a few short minutes after I'd entered, the little black velvet box burning a hole in my jacket pocket as I walked away.

I was feeling almost giddy, flushed with the double success of my missions that morning: I'd gotten ahold of my money, remedying my penniless situation, and I'd found—and bought—the perfect ring for the perfect girl, who was, unbelievably, already mine. I'd not felt joy or pride like that in years, perhaps never, actually. Except for the moment when I realized Alice really loved me, and that I wasn't going to wake up from this happy dream, that the dream was reality.

Of course, that was the moment when Fate or God or the Devil or whoever is responsible for such things decided to take advantage of my inattention.

I was strolling through the late morning foot traffic, almost completely consumed by my thoughts. I was remembering walking into the bank and presenting my documents, barely able to tamp down my nervousness at being surrounded by humans and my eager hope that this would, indeed, work…And it had.

With a quick consultation of their records and a few phone calls, the bank had verified my account in Rapid City, and I was a rich man. Well, not precisely rich, but I was very comfortable. And that was indeed a nice feeling. A weight lifted.

And then there was the ring. I was trying on various ways to propose to her…again…the right way…not settling on any particular one, for fear I might clue Alice in with a strong inclination. It was a deliciously perplexing problem.

The morning was cold and cloudy, but my heart was light and my mind was filled with pleasant thoughts. Of course, there had to be something to shatter my mood. Of course.

That's when the mugger stabbed his mark, and the man's bright blood screamed at me from the alley.

I turned unerringly in the direction of the scent. I saw the mugger running away into the crowd, dropping the wallet he'd paid such a heavy price for in his haste; I saw the victim falling, crumbling in slow motion to the ground, his blood scarlet and garish against the overcast palette of the winter morning; I heard the gasps and screams as people saw him.

But more than anything, I heard the panicked galloping of the victim's heart, almost like it was within me, every beat pushing out more blood, more liquid temptation, burning me with its intensity.

I was getting ready to cross the street, of course. Just like Alice had said, warning me. A crowded street. Somewhere in the back of my mind I cursed my silly giddiness at my up-until-then successful morning…I'd let my guard down.

"_My God, what happened?"_

"_Someone, call the police!"_

"_Put pressure on the wound, yes, like that…Is anyone a doctor?"_

"_Oh, my lord, there's so much blood!"_

"_Did anyone see where the guy went?"_

The humans' voices echoed and swirled around me like confetti in the wind; I was frozen there on the corner, my throat burning, the pain white-hot and relentless, my body screaming at me to turn and take those few steps to the source of the temptation, damn the consequences…Every ounce of my strength was poured into trying to resist it. Amazingly, no one really noticed me. I was just another anonymous stranger standing on a street corner in a city of thousands, seemingly frozen by the bloodshed…but truthfully, I was a stranger who thirsted for the blood of other strangers, a monster.

"Jasper?"

The voice was familiar, the tone bewildered and amazed, the last thing I could ever imagine to hear. It shocked me out of my stasis, and somehow that shock let me clamp down over my rebel thirst, pinning it into submission for a moment as I dealt with the unexpected voice.

"Ch-_Charlotte_?"

She stood before me, mouth gaping in shock. Her eyes were covered with dark sunglasses, of course, but that didn't disguise her reaction, nostrils flaring at the scent of blood on the wind, arms akimbo, warring with herself just as I was, but for different reasons. Whereas I was trying not to answer the blood's calling to me because I wanted to be different, she was trying to resist the scent to not betray her true nature…which she accepted completely and without apology.

Charlotte looked exactly the same since I'd last seen her two years ago, her dark red hair tumbling down her back like an auburn river, the only difference her more modern clothes. Her dress was dark green, the color and cut very flattering. She was frozen in place, looking up at me, and I sensed her nervousness: we always get a little antsy when we suddenly run into each other, familiar or not. Vampires, that is. We're such an unpredictable species, we never know what to expect from each other.

Finally, she swallowed and nodded cautiously.

Something in me thawed, my body's lust for blood shoved aside as I realized what seeing Charlotte meant.

"Is Peter here? In Chicago?" I babbled, glancing around. I knew their habits. Usually, when approaching a place they'd not been to for a while, one of them went scouting first, making sure there were no threats, that no others of our kind had laid claim to the area, checking out the best places to hunt, reporting back to the other afterward.

Charlotte nodded again, jerkily, still staring at me. "Yes, he's not far…Jasper…How-how are you?" She faltered into silence, waiting, anxious.

I remembered that the last time I'd been with them I'd been a walking disaster, an emotional and mental wreck. But even that fact didn't completely explain her amazement, which I could feel clearly.

The bloody mugging was forgotten, pushed into a far corner of my mind, overshadowed by my eagerness to share my new life with my old friends. "I'm wonderful, Charlotte. There's someone I want you to meet. My…my mate." If I could have blushed, I would have, at the silly thrill that shot through me at saying that word, naming Alice as mine to someone else.

Charlotte grinned, lowering her sunglasses a bit to blink coyly up at me. I suppose my smile must have surprised her, since I'd never been much of a smiler before.

"Well, well, Mr. Whitlock, you finally met your match? I didn't think any female would be able to catch your interest for long," she teased. "You were always so moody. Most women get tired of that from a man. _We__'__re_ supposed to be the moody ones, after all!" And we both laughed.

I shook my head ruefully. "Truly, neither did I. But then again, I never knew someone like her was possible. She's the most wonderful thing in the world. My Alice." I heard the worship in my voice as I said her name, and I didn't care.

"Alice?" She started at the name, her mouth popping open in shock before she reined it in. Charlotte's ginger eyebrows climbed high above the frames of the sunglasses; I could taste her curiosity.

Curiosity, yes…but it wasn't quite right. There was more there than just curiosity. She stared into my eyes, which by then were a deep amber, without a hint of surprise, almost as if she recognized them…but that didn't strike me as odd until later.

"Then we definitely have to… meet Alice, Jasper."

Something about the way she said it piqued my interest. She laid her hand tentatively on my forearm. "I'm very happy for you. Peter will be, too. Overjoyed, even." Charlotte sighed. "He speaks of you often. We've thought to look for you occasionally. But he always thought it best to leave you be, let you sort yourself out." She chuckled. "He's said you'd find us when you were ready. And I guess you have." Charlotte giggled. "We seem to have found each other!"

"He's a wise man. And I do believe I have indeed sorted myself out." I grinned. "Then bring him to the hotel this evening. The Hilton, downtown. We have a room there. I want you both to meet her, spend some time with her. You'll be blown away."

"I'm sure we will be." Charlotte grinned back, and again, she was all amazed and wondering…but not surprised like she should have been. I squashed my suspicion down in my eagerness to be happy. "We'll be there at seven. I promise." She squeezed my hand briefly, then let it go.

And she was gone, disappearing suddenly into the crowd without another word. Like she'd never been there. Only her scent, lingering in the air, proved her presence a split-second before.

Behind me, the man who'd been stabbed was being loaded into an ambulance. The smell of his blood was beginning to fade, trod underfoot by witnesses and helpers, the flow stanched by bandages and covered by chemical antiseptics and medicines. I barely had to concentrate to ignore it.

The ring pulsed in my pocket again, almost as intensely as the scent of the blood had burned.

_Alice.__Sunset_.

How much more time did I have? I glanced down at my watch and realized it was only noon. What would I do with almost six hours?

I lifted my gaze and for the first time read the letters of the sign a block away, the foot-high letters screaming at me in neon.

_Meyer's Fine Automobiles._

How fun.

**APOV:**

She was, of course, right where I knew she'd be.

A few minutes before I'd left Jasper in the hotel room, trying my best to tamp down the images his decisions kept throwing up in my mind's eye, and I'd set a course for the nearest department store. I had something of a date to keep.

She was a lovely thing, her long auburn hair cascading down her back, her curves graceful and compact on her petite frame. Gorgeous as only our kind can be.

She fit into her dress perfectly, damn her, unlike me. But her eyes were covered by sunglasses that stood out in the fluorescent lights of the sales floor, covering eyes that I knew would be blood red, colored by her diet.

Even though she wasn't overtly aggressive, something about the woman's demeanor, the fluid and predatory way she moved, frightened the girls attending her, and I knew it was better if I interrupted, for everyone´s sakes. Luckily, opportunity presented itself.

A salesgirl was timidly holding up a two-piece, cherry-red sweater-and-skirt set for her approval, but it was all wrong for the client. People always think a redhead should wear red, but it's a rare redhead who can carry it off well.

This woman's coloring demanded something deeper. Cherry red clashed with her beautiful auburn hair, which anyone with an ounce of sense could see. I shook my head and rolled my eyes at the girl's lack of taste and knew I had to take matters into my own hands, before Charlotte (because that's what the red-headed vampire's name was, even though I'd never met her) got offended and lost control. It had happened before, and would happen again. Better if it didn't happen near me, it was hard enough to stay in control on my own.

I glanced around and found what I needed in the racks easily.

"No, sweetie, this is much better," I murmured to the human salesgirl as I slid between her and Charlotte, pushing the girl back gently. "See how this compliments her coloring and shape?" I held up my offering: a cowl-neck sweater dress in forest-green cashmere. "Hardly any redhead can wear red, especially that shade. And not all redheads can wear green. But she can. And those legs demand a shorter skirt."

The humans faded gratefully into the background, leaving Charlotte to stare at me in disbelief. My vampire scent came to her instantly, her full lips parting over her teeth in the beginnings of a challenging snarl, but I didn't let it happen.

"Oh, be quiet. Don't make this any more difficult than it has to be." Steeling myself against her possible reaction, I reached out and took her arm and tugged her toward the dressing rooms. "Come on. Let's make sure this suits you like I think it will."

Charlotte looked at me as if I were insane, resisting for a split second, then her eyes locked on mine, registering the odd color, and she froze in shock. She allowed herself to be led, her mouth agape in amazement.

I knew she was at war with herself, not knowing what to do: before now, if some strange vampire female had tried to touch her, she'd have tried to rip them limb from limb…but she knew this was something different. No other female besides me would be so sure of herself, because only I had my visions to help me.

And no other female she'd ever seen, no other _vampire_ she'd ever seen or heard of, had golden eyes.

In the dressing room, Charlotte shed her clothes without the slightest twinge of modesty and slithered into my choice; she seemed glad to get them off, since they'd seen better days. They must have been living wild for a while.

I could tell, as she turned and posed before the mirrors, that she wanted to reject it, just because I'd suggested it: her lips pursed sourly, she pushed the sunglasses up onto her forehead, revealing her crimson eyes, which narrowed critically as they sought flaws in her reflection. But she found none. She sighed in defeat and turned to me, a wry smile pulling up the corners of her perfect mouth.

"I'd say thank you for the dress suggestion, but I'm at a slight disadvantage, since I don't know your name."

I bit the inside of my cheek to restrain my gloating satisfaction: I was good. Damn good.

"Alice."

"Thank you, Alice." She cocked her head to the side, gazing at me intensely. "But I have to ask. Why the heroic fashion intervention? Was that red thing the salesgirl was trying to sell me on truly so horrific to you that you had to interfere?"

I giggled. "Well, no. I mean, actually, that red outfit was completely wrong for you, and any moron with a vague understanding of color should have known that, especially someone who gets paid to recommend clothes to others…But that's not why. I needed to meet you. I knew it would happen. You're important to my future. You're important to my husband." I smiled at her confusion and my babbling. "Let's just say, our meeting was preordained."

Charlotte stared at me like I was crazy again, those red eyebrows climbing ever higher. "Your husband? And who might that be?"

I bit my lip. "You already know him, of course. I'm the stranger, here. Don't worry, you'll see him shortly."

Her brow furrowed in confusion.

I stood up, smoothing my skirt. "You'll understand soon." Shamefully, I took a childish glee in playing the mysterious oracle for that brief moment, dropping such an ambiguous verbal bomb. "I'll see you later. Around seven." And I disappeared, using every ounce of speed and stealth I had to escape that dressing room.

She didn't follow. I ended up standing at the corner of ffñjggjñjgjfjñk, my eyes closed as I reviewed what I needed to do next. I opened my eyes and focused on the building before me. "Chicago Hall of Records" read the sign in filigreed letters. There was an almost audible click in my mind as all the little flashes I'd been receiving without comprehending how they related to each other fell neatly into place, forming the entire picture.

I had some research to do.

A little bell chimed cheerily as I opened the door to the shop, stepping into the dim, slightly dusty interior. Across the room, a round little man with half-moon glasses squinted over their rims at me from behind a counter.

"Good afternoon, how may I help you?" he called querulously.

I glanced around, taking in the hodgepodge of old things that huddled on the shelves, overflowed from bins, and lay piled on the floor.

Furniture that had seen better days, cracked and mismatched china, weathered figurines and battered candelabras, grandfather clocks whose hands stood still. "Buxley's Antiques" was the name of the shop, but from what I could tell at first glance, most of the stuff in that store was just junk. Sentimental junk, but junk nonetheless.

"Well, I'm mainly just looking. I have…I have a…meeting in a little while, and I saw your sign, thought I could kill a little time, seeing what you have." I grinned at the little old man. "I'm a sucker for old stuff."

He blinked owlishly, blinded momentarily by my otherworldliness. Damn. Sometimes I forgot to turn down my wattage for the mortals.

"By all means, my dear, feel free to look all you want," he eventually managed, pulling off his spectacles to polish them absently on his fusty old sweater. "I confess, it's a mess in here. My wife used to keep better track of things but…" He sighed. "She passed last winter, and I haven't had the heart to do much more than just open the doors every morning and lock them up at night." His eyes closed and he turned away from me, snatching up a feather duster and frantically attacking a pile of old books behind him as if defending himself from attack. As if he needed to do something, anything, to keep from breaking into tears.

I closed my eyes for a moment, casting the net of my visions ahead in the hope that maybe, just maybe, I could see something about this poor, suffering person. After a moment I smiled and opened my eyes again. "I'm just going to look around, all right, sir?"

He made a vague motion with one hand over his shoulder, still not looking at me, shooing me away. I took it as tacit permission to poke around.

The place was narrow, but amazingly deep: the back of the store wasn't even visible until you'd gone many steps in. I ran my hand over worn, beautiful brocade fabric and scarred, exotic woods; I traced the lines of a tarnished pewter angel's wings and inhaled the scent of desiccated flowers still standing proudly in chipped Ming vases. Mr. Buxley's store was a treasure trove of the used-to-be and the once-was, a sad memorial of things lovely and valuable but now passed into their decline.

But I knew what I was looking for. It called to me.

Finally, I found it. Buried under a mountain of mismatched china cups on a smeared silver tray and a moth-eaten damask tablecloth, there it was.

It was a hope chest. The kind girls from the turn of the century had had, swirls and spirals and ruffles carved lovingly into the dark, glossy wood, hearts aplenty: a place to store their dreams for the future, their plans for a home. The box into which they would place their trousseau of hand-sewn "married woman" clothes and underthings, where they would store the linens and bedding they'd painstakingly stitched for the home they'd be making with their soon-to-be husband.

I wiped away the dust and read the initials inscribed on the lid: EWEM, twined together inside a heart. I knew what they stood for.

Elizabeth Williams and Edward Masen.

Edward Masen, Senior.

Shuffling footsteps behind me.

"Ah, that old thing." Mr Buxley sighed. "My wife bought it from some dealer years ago, they were clearing out the contents of a warehouse. Some dealer had bought the stuff off a bill collector who took it after the influenza epidemic, the owners of some house that the owners died. But the man had let it sit in the warehouse for years, for some reason. My wife…Shirley…she just loved the carving on the trunk, couldn't bear to let it go to the dump.

"Beautiful work. The dealer said he'd heard the girl's father did the carving himself. They sold it as-is, there're a few things inside, nothing valuable, though." He chuckled. "Shirley bought it and forgot about it before she could inventory the contents. She was a bit absentminded those last days. She died a few months later." Another sigh. "But I suppose, whoever he was, that father loved his daughter, and put all that love into that carving. You can just feel it."

"Yes, he did, and you can," I whispered, touching the letters again, tracing their lines, trying to pull everything I could out of that dead wood, trying to see the past instead of the future. Breathless with expectation, I lifted the lid.

Years ago, Edward's parents had perished in that influenza epidemic, and supposedly, so had their son: Edward Masen, Jr. I knew it from conversations I'd witnessed during my years of watching the Cullens, and from my research in the Chicago vital records office.

The father, Edward Masen, Sr., a successful lawyer, had created a trust for the preservation of the family's real estate holdings…but it hadn't included the items inside the home. Surely he'd never imagined it would be necessary to inventory the contents of his home in the trust document. Those had been ravished by the bill collectors: all the lovely things Elizabeth had amassed over the years, all the tangible memories of their family, has been stripped away and sold, scattered to the winds.

I'd seen in the records that the house had been eventually claimed by a distant relative…who happened to be the real Edward Masen, of course, but by then he had been irrevocably changed by Carlisle's intervention in his natural death, and could never claim to be the real Edward, who had supposedly died of influenza years before.

Edward got the house, but those things, the things which Elizabeth and her Edwards had collected to make the house a home, were scattered to the winds.

This was Elizabeth's hope chest.

I plunged my hand into the depths, raising a cloud of dust, faking a sneeze for Mr. Buxley's benefit. Covering everything were linens: embroidered handkerchiefs, scarves, monogrammed hand towels. I pulled a few out and dropped them to the floor beside me. Beneath them were other things, hat boxes tied with string and old cookie tins, sealed with rust. I put them beside me too, without looking inside. That wasn't my job, someone else would do it soon. I was looking for something else.

Beneath the boxes was a false bottom, I could tell by rapping gently on the chest's floor, the sound was wrong, something no one had ever managed to pay attention to before. I easily found the edge and lifted it, revealing the hidden compartment below. Only a few things rested there, sheltered from everything else, waiting for me.

"I'll take it all. Including the chest."

Mr. Buxley blinked again, tangled eyebrows arching in disbelief.

"All of it?" He glanced down at the stuff I'd taken out. "This too?" He nudged a cookie tin with his toe. I snatched it up greedily. It was too important.

"Everything. Pack it all together, if you wouldn't mind. Send it to the downtown Hilton hotel. Room 21B. Make sure to include a tip for the delivery boy, and yourself."

"Yes, ma'am!" Mr. Buxley's mood was considerably improved by the sale; he was smiling brightly.

A few minutes later I was several dollars poorer, but it was money well spent. I'd paid far less for those things than what they were actually worth, in actual and sentimental value. My heart felt lighter, knowing the happiness I would deliver with this armful of junk…but it wasn't junk to everyone.

What do they say? One man's trash is another man's treasure? Oh, how wise _they_ are.

I stopped suddenly, remembering my vision from inside the store, what I'd looked for regarding the old man.

Right at that moment, a tiny, bent woman, barely bigger than me, stumbled into me.

Of course she ran into me, I'd just stopped walking and was standing like a moron right in her path. But she was the one who apologized first.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" she gasped.

I grinned down at her. She was old, but her face was sweet and wise, every wrinkle carved by a memory or an experience, beautiful in the way of the Grand Canyon, the Great Rift Valley.

"No problem, ma'am. I had a rock in my shoe." I reached down and twitched at my heel, pretending to extract said imaginary rock. "You know, besides, I was a bit distracted. I was just over there, in that shop, and I found some lovely things. I was thinking about them, and I just got distracted. Really, it was my fault. I shouldn't have stopped in the middle of the sidewalk like that."

Her faded blue eyes traveled over my face for a moment before they sought out the shop I pointed toward. "Antiques?" She smiled. "He has some nice things? I love that kind of stuff. Makes me feel young again." She chuckled. "My house is full to bursting. But I always look for more. My husband was terribly irritated that every flat surface was covered in trinkets…but since he's not around anymore…"

"Oh, yes. Lovely things. You should go see for yourself." I was fairly gushing.

The old woman thought about it for a moment, then she smiled and nodded dismissively at me. "Thank you, young lady. I think I will."

I watched as she opened the door and went inside, the bell over the door tinkling gaily again. I knew it would be hours before she left, and after that, there wouldn't be a day where she didn't go in and see Mr. Buxley. They'd comfort each other.

Sometimes, my sight was truly, truly useful. To someone besides myself, that is.

**JPOV**

Alice was waiting for me in the lobby of the hotel when I pulled up to the curb, looking out through the big glass windows. Her eyes were huge and her grin consumed her entire face as she rose to her feet at the sight of me in the driver's seat of such a car, and she rushed out to greet me.

"Wow." She stroked the long lines of the hood, her gaze devouring the car hungrily.

I pulled myself out and closed the door behind me. "Yeah, it's something, huh?"

"Um…yeah!" She bit her lower lip. "But why?" It was gratifying to see her confusion. I had to remember that she didn't see reasons behind decisions: she only saw their results. Of course this would confuse her a little.

I leaned back against it casually. "I'm going to teach you how to drive. And this is your car, incidentally."

Alice stared at me. "Why?" Of course she didn't say "how." She knew. But she'd never throw it in my face.

"Because you love speed and you love luxury…and this car is the epitome of both."

Alice shook her head. "You're…amazing." Her eyes lingered on the car, then locked with mine. "How much fun will this be?" she cried, clapping her hands like a happy little girl. "I never really wanted to drive before. It seemed silly when I could run so much faster. But I never saw a car like this!"

I chuckled, walking around to the passenger side. "Get in. Let's get out of the city so I can teach you."

She stopped mid-clap, eyes widening, a slow, sly grin spreading across her face.

"No, we have to wait. They're not here yet."

Alice cocked her head to one side, like a dog that has heard a silent whistle, her eyes glazing over for a moment. "But they will be shortly."

I stopped in the middle of reaching to open the passenger door. "Who?" Then it struck me who I'd seen that morning, who I'd invited there to meet Alice. I'd practically forgotten. Of course Alice knew.

"Oh."

"Jasper!" The voice was warm and familiar. "Jasper, you old dog!" And then Peter was there, Charlotte at his side, reaching out as if to embrace me. "I'm so glad to see you!"

I reined in my first impulse, crushing the initial desire of my body to attack at the scent of another male approaching me. Instead, I reached back to him, and then we were hugging each other, clapping each other on the back and laughing. Old friends, good friends, long parted, happy to see one another. It was always easy with Peter.

After a moment, Peter pulled back and looked at me, grinning. He looked right into my eyes; the grin faded and his eyes narrowed as he tried to understand the strange color he found there. He shot a glance back at Charlotte, and I realized that she'd told him about my eyes, and he was realizing she was indeed right and not imagining things, as he'd supposed. I knew if I had been in his place, I'd doubt what she said, too.

"So, Jasper, what have you been doing these last few years?" Peter did his best not to allow his consternation to color his voice, but I felt it anyway.

I let my arms fall to my sides. "Why don't you two hop in the backseat and go with us? I'm going to teach Alice to drive, and I think it's better if both the lesson and this conversation were well away from here." Indeed, passers-by were gawking at the car and at us.

Peter glanced again at Charlotte, who nodded frantically, then at Alice for the first time. He considered her for a long moment; Alice felt his scrutiny. She stood up straighter, pushing out her chest, her chin jutting forward aggressively, daring him. She disliked being evaluated. But she didn't say anything.

"Fine. Let's go."

A few minutes later, we were speeding through the frigid November darkness.

**APOV**

The night air was intoxicating, like some kind of undiscovered liquor, the coldness and sharpness assaulting our senses. I looked up at the sky, at the stars blazing down, their gaze frigid and unchanging.

How like the stars are we, I thought. Unwavering, cold, beautiful, inspiring…and definitely dangerous up close.

But…stars only seem cold from far away. Up close, they are hot, violent, primal.

Very appropriate.

Jasper put the pedal to the metal, and we sped past the Chicago city limits and out into the countryside in moments. Charlotte and Peter sat in the backseat, Charlotte finally giving up on trying to keep her hat on in the face of the whistling wind. The hat went sailing away behind us, lost in the night, and we all laughed, the sound swallowed up by the darkness like Charlotte's hat.

I scooted close to my man and lay my head on his shoulder; he slipped his arm around my waist and pulled me closer still. "Like the car, sweetheart?" he whispered into my hair, and I shivered at the touch of his lips against my scalp. "Think you can handle it?" Jasper tapped the gas and the engine snarled like a cornered tiger.

"Oh, I can handle anything, I think. As long as I'm with you," I whispered back. We both ignored Charlotte and Peter's stifled chuckles from the backseat; they were both amazed at how much Jasper had changed since they last seen him, apparently.

"Good," he rumbled. "Think you'll want to keep me around, then?"

I pulled away and punched him in the arm. He winced dramatically.

"I suppose that means yes, then?" Jasper glanced at me, a slow, warm smile spreading across his face, and a happy glow bloomed within me, a touch of his gift, heating me from head to toe.

"Of course, baby. Forever."

"Well, in that case, you'll be wanting this, I guess."

The little black velvet box was suddenly perched atop my knee; he'd moved so fast even I hadn't seen it.

My breath caught in my throat, and if I'd had a heart that beat, it would have wanted to pound its way out of my chest. "Is that…" I couldn't finish.

He chuckled. "Yes, indeed, and I'm sure you know what it looks like already. Hopefully I didn't mess up and choose the wrong one."

I punched him again…with the hand not holding that little black box.

"Woman, stop hitting me and put your ring on."

This time, Charlotte and Peter's giggles erupted uncontrolled, along with mine, and I didn't care that someone else was seeing this moment. I didn't care one bit.

Ever so gently, I cracked open the box, and sighed longingly at the sight of it. My ring, glowing like a star against the midnight-black velvet.

"It's perfect," I whispered into his ear.

With the dexterity that only one of our kind can manage, somehow Jasper slid the ring onto my finger, where it nestled companionably against my wedding band…all while driving so fast the landscape was a blur around us.

I wrapped my arms around my husband's neck and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you, Mr. Whitlock. I didn't need it…but I love it anyway."

His satisfied, purring growl sent shivers down my spine. "No…thank _you_, Mrs. Whitlock." Once again, that hot glow burst within me, the reflection of his own feelings, wrapping me like a warm blanket, burning me alive from within, all at once.

We sat like that for a long time, the car full of companionable silence and the sweetness of love.

I thought about the months stretching before us, the important things I'd seen, the family that was waiting for us at the end of that long and winding road.

I had so much to do.

But for that moment, that night, all I had to do was sit in that car with Jasper, Charlotte, and Peter, and know that I was exactly where I was supposed to be, doing exactly what I was supposed to do…and it felt wonderful.


End file.
